Batman: Arkham Interviews
by DarkWorldWithin
Summary: A series of short stories following the life of Toby Mawson, a young psychiatrist that becomes increasingly involved with the inmates of Gotham's Arkham Asylum, and many villains outside as well. He investigates all of Batman's greatest and craziest villains including The Joker, Two-Face, Ra's Al Ghul, Bane, The Penguin, and many more.
1. (S)laughter

The echoing clack of his footsteps seemed ominously loud to Toby as he walked briskly down the corridor. It felt almost like a near-death experience, with the endless cream walls and the gleaming white floor stretching on into the distance. The rustle of his dark suit seemed almost like the whisper of the dead, incomprehensible and yet omnipresent.

It was like a long walk into the afterlife.

He shivered, and moved faster, clutching his briefcase. "Just relax, Toby," he muttered to himself. "It's just another case. Get it over with and then get on with your life." He wasn't reassured much. Mercifully, he saw the entrance to the ward he was headed for. He glanced at the sign on the door in thin black letters. 'Arkham Asylum: Maximum Security'. Just below it was another sign, blood red and bold. 'WARNING – PATIENTS IN THIS WARD ARE HIGHLY DANGEROUS'.

Toby winced. "Comforting," he muttered. The keypad to the side beeped as he entered a five digit code. The door opened with a hiss and he hurried down yet another white corridor, shorter than the others but equally disturbing. There was a large security guard in front of one of the doors, and Toby nodded to him as he stopped.

The guard nodded back. "Just yell if you need anything, doc," he said, with a meaningful glance at the black holster at his waist. Toby gave a brief, uncomfortable smile.

"Sure thing. I don't think I'll be long though."

"Well, we'll be watching. If he tries anything, we'll be in there within seconds." The guard moved to the side and opened the door, motioning to Toby to enter.

"Thanks," Toby said. _I think._ It was cold inside, and the small interrogation room seemed like an icy tundra, with its white walls, white table, and grey chairs. There was another door opposite to the one Toby had just stepped through, and he could see the back of another security guard in front of it.

Settling down into the chair on his side, he opened his briefcase and took out a thick file. Toby hesitated at the string binder. He didn't want to open the file – he had seen it before. More importantly, it was the things inside them that frightened him.

"Come on, this is your job," He muttered again. "Get in, get out. The guy's a creep but once this is done, you'll never have to see him again." Exhaling a massive breath, he opened the file.

At the front was a thick stack of photographs. Each one was a body. Or at least, what was left of them. The first one's face was a mass of criss-crossing scars and a wash of blood. Toby flicked through them. Blood. More blood. He couldn't look away. He was both mesmerized and sickened by the gallery of photos. The door clicked, and Toby looked up.

A clown from hell entered. He wore a green waistcoat and tie, over a purple shirt and trousers. His unwashed hair was an unhealthy green colour and it hung in a tangled mess around his face. But it was his face that drew Toby's eyes. His face was a ghostly white, covered in makeup that was cracked and smudged. The area around his eyes was black as a moonless night, and his lips were blood red. At first, it seemed like he had simply painted a large smile that extended from the corners of his mouth. But when Toby looked closer, he saw two thick scars in a grotesque perversion of a smile.

The Joker was seated in the opposite chair by the guard accompanying him, his handcuffs clicking against the table. The guard left the room, never taking his eyes off the clown.

"Hello there Little Miss Muffin," the Joker said. His voice was sneering, sardonic and sinister. "And how are we feeling today?"

The question caught Toby off guard. "I'm… good, thank you," he said, floundering. "What about yourself?"

"Oh I'm just fine. Fine and dandy, yes indeedy. It feels so good to finally be among a group of people just like me. It's like one big happy crazy family." He spread his arms out as if welcoming a hug. The movement was sudden, and Toby instinctively flinched back in his chair.

The Joker giggled insanely, and his rotten teeth gleamed darkly. "What, are you afraid of me? Oh I'm not such a bad guy. A little unpredictable, but then, you can never predict what anyone's gonna do."

Toby recovered and refocused on his work. "My name is Doctor Toby Mawson. I'm here to ask you a couple of questions and get a profile on you." He took a notepad and pen out of his briefcase. "Let's start with the basics. What's your name?

"Dick. T. Porkington III," he said without hesitation.

Toby looked up. "Come on, this'll go so much quicker and easier if you just answer honestly. What's your name?"

"Jessica." The Joker's mouth twitched slightly.

"Okay then," Toby sighed. "Where were you born?"

"In the land of Mordor, in the fires of Mount Doom." His mouth twitched again, but this time he couldn't hold it in. With a snort, he burst out laughing, a raw and harsh sound that switched randomly between a high cackle and a low rumble. Then, suddenly, he stopped, and silence filled the room.

The Joker stared at Toby, and the dark orbs drew the psychiatrist into the Joker's mind. An evil world filled with fire, chaos and madness.

Toby blinked and shook his head slightly. "Why won't you answer me honestly?" he asked.

"You really expect me to answer that question honestly? You're just as crazy as me." The Joker raised his eyebrows, the white makeup stretching and cracking. Then he grinned; his extended 'smile' almost reached his ears. Toby couldn't help but look at the thick, red, curving lines on the Joker's cheeks.

"You wanna how I got these scars?" he asked softly. "I can see you like 'em." He almost purred. Toby opened his mouth to speak but the Joker carried on. "You don't even have to answer. That's why you're here, isn't it, to hear all about this kinda stuff. You must get off on it or something, choosing to listen to it, day in, day out." He leaned forward, tugging his chair as far as it would go up to the table.

"Well, I used to be a shrink, just like you, and I mostly dealt with depressed people. They came to me with their little problems every single day, and it was always the same thing." He grimaced in a grotesque visage of grief, and his voice became high and whining. "Nobody likes meee. I feel so lonelyyy." Then his voice dropped to a malicious growl. "I'm. So. Sad." He returned to his normal tone. "So, I told them all the usual bull about 'always look on the bright side', etcetera etcetera. And they did, for about four and a half seconds. They always came back the next day, and nothing had changed. Naturally, I decided that they needed something a little more permanent. Something to remind them to always be happy." The Joker smiled a blood red smile. "So I took the letter opener on my desk and gave them all these beautiful big smiles." He chuckled. "And it worked perfectly. They were all howling and screaming with laughter by the time I was done." He laughed again. "But then I thought to myself, why shouldn't I get to smile just like them? Why do I have to be so serious all the time?"

He leaned forward, and his black eyes bored into Toby. "So, I put the knife in my mouth, and made my own little grin." He smiled, as if to show off his handiwork. "And the fun has never stopped since then."

Toby broke out of his reverie, and looked down at his hands clutching the arms of the chair. He'd been clenching so tightly that his knuckles were as white as snow. His heart still pounded in his chest, and it showed no signs of slowing down.

"Well… That's uh…" Toby swallowed. "That's an… interesting story." He tried to recollect his scattered thoughts. "But let's uh, stick to the questions I ask you, okay?" He was dreading the next one.

"How many people have you killed?" he asked.

"You know, I'm not really sure," he said. His tone was light-hearted, almost conversational, but the hint of madness still showed itself occasionally. "I don't really keep track. I try and stay in the moment; that way you can really savour every little detail as you carve 'em up. You know what I mean?"

Toby chose not to answer. "Why did you kill them?"

"How does 'for poops and giggles' grab ya?" the Joker said, giggling.

Most serial killers chose their victims with some kind of pattern and reasoning, Toby knew. But pure psychopaths killed randomly, without pattern or purpose. But the Joker was something even worse.

He did it for fun.

Toby didn't want to carry on questioning him, but the clown-like figure sitting in front of him was like a black hole, cold, dark and empty, yet it drew him in inexorably.

"How did you feel when you killed them?" he asked.

"Well, a lot of things really." The Joker stretched out his hands, ticking off on his fingers. "Happy, that's obvious. Proud. Hungry. Satisfied is another one."

"Satisfied?" Toby interrupted.

"Well you see its like this. The human is a highly advanced being that has adapted to survive in the most efficient way possible. And that attitude has been zapped into our brains over the years. We all struggle like good little worker bees, all so we can live just a few more years. And it's so… dull. So boring. Surely it would be so much more fun to spice things up a little; change the way things usually are."

The Joker cocked his head, smiling like a hungry wolf toying with its prey. "Everyone flirts with the idea, everyone in the world. You stand on the roof of a building and just know that you could jump, and smash your body to ketchupy bits of rare steak. You pick up a knife and know that you could turn your wrists into pez dispensers. Because the truth is, we hate doing what we're supposed to do. But you people." He spat the words with disgust. "You feel the need to fight against these little impulses."

The Joker's face suddenly contorted into an image of pure bestial rage, and he slammed his hands onto the table with a loud crash. "YOU STUPID LITTLE INSECTS!" Toby jumped in his seat, and the Joker laughed, high and wild. "If you feel an urge to do something, who has the right to tell you it's wrong? Hmm?" He shook his head. "You're just a puppet. You can't see your strings, but trust me, they're there. And your puppet-masters are so skilled that they've actually convinced you that you actually have free will. But you don't. They control you. You're just a little part of their grand scheme."

"I control my own life," Toby said, suddenly feeling defiant. "I can do what I want with my life, and I am."

"Oh no no no, little birdy. You're doing exactly what they want you to. If you were truly free, if you did what your heart desires, then you'd be out there in the streets, killing, stealing and raping like an animal."

"I could, but I don't want to."

"Wrong. You're aching for it. You've just been conditioned to believe that it's somehow wrong to want it, to believe that rules and order are a good thing. Well lemme tell ya something – chaos is the most fun a person can have."

"Fun for you, maybe. Not for me."

"How do you know? You've never tried it." The Joker smiled evilly. "Have you ever killed a man, doc?"

"No," Toby said shortly, disgust plain on his face.

"Well invest some thought into giving it a try," said the Joker. "Take it from me, it brightens your day considerably. Don't they say that red is a colour that promotes positive thoughts? With all the red you see when you're killing, you can't help but laugh."

Toby couldn't take it anymore. "Thank you for your time," he forced out, packing away the blank notepad and the file. "Another doctor will be making regular check-ups on you."

"Oh I do hate it when things don't change," the Joker said, grimacing. "Speaking of which, d'you know how I got these scars?" His eyes glinted darkly beneath the black makeup.

Toby stood up and turned without a word.

"Oh, and doc?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember, laughter is just one small step away from slaughter!" The Joker descended into gales of hideous laughter, and the mad shrieks of glee followed Toby as he left the ward as fast as he could move.


	2. Pandora's Box

Nine figures sat in a dark boardroom, faces obscured by shadows. Four were sat at each side, and one at the head of the table. The symbol of Arkham Asylum adorned the centre, two 'A's, mirrored on top of each other, boldly emblazoned like a war banner.

Toby Mawson stepped into the room, his eyes slowly adjusting to the light.

"Please, take a seat, doctor," came a female voice to his left.

"Thank you," he said, taking the offered seat at the end of the table.

The man at the head of the table, the chairman, placed his thick meaty hands on the table, his white lab coat rustling.

"So, Dr. Mawson," he started in a deep booming voice. "I'll get straight to the point. You have been recommended to us by your superiors. If you accept, you will take a permanent position as a resident here at Arkham Asylum."

Toby blinked twice, unable to believe what was being said. "Permanent... here at Arkham?" he stuttered.

The chairman seemed not to notice Toby's discomfort. "Yes. Naturally, your pay will be significantly increased from your current position at Gotham General Hospital, due to the dangerous nature of your work environment."

Toby could care less about his paycheck; the only factor that was key in his decision was the Joker, and the rest of the people locked up inside Arkham. If he had his way, he wouldn't be within a hundred miles of them.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not interested in taking a job here," he said firmly.

"I understand, doctor. However, I'm afraid to say that budget cuts at Gotham General have forced them to cut back on staff."

Toby frowned, then realised. "I'm being fired?"

"I'm afraid so. My apologies. Now, with this new information in mind, would you like to reconsider our offer?"

It was a trap, Toby realised. Take away his job and force him to take the one they wanted. He had heard all about the mysterious powerful people who ran Arkham Asylum and he didn't doubt for a second that they could do something like this. He raged silently for a moment, keeping his face blank and staring down at the table, but he realised it was futile. There was only one thing he _could_ do.

"I accept."

There was a small movement from the shadows near the chairman's mouth, and Toby guessed he was smiling.

"A wise choice, Doctor Mawson. Welcome to Arkham Asylum."

Toby nodded and forced himself to smile, but his words didn't sound like a welcome; they sounded like a judge's sentence.

"I'm curious Dr. Mawson," the chairman continued. "What did you think of the Joker?"

"Professionally or personally?" Toby would rather not think of him at all.

"Personally. We've already been through your report."

Toby smirked humourlessly when he recalled the meagre document he had handed to his superiors. "I didn't realise it was much of a report."

"You actually analysed the Joker far more accurately than most others who have interviewed him. So far, none of us have been able to conclude exactly what is wrong with him. He is a notoriously difficult man to read."

"I'll say."

"But now, doctor, I would like to know what you think of him, outside of your medical expertise."

Grimacing, Toby reluctantly thought back to his meeting with the Joker.

"He's a magnet," he said slowly, trying to wrap his head around his complex thoughts. With a man like Joker, nothing was straightforward. "On one side, he repels me of course. He's a criminal, and one of the worst at that. He's brutal, vicious, and sunken so deep in his insanity that I think it would take a miracle for him to crawl back out." Toby paused then. "But at the same time, he draws me in. He's fascinating. That it's possible for a human being to reach a state such of his is both frightening, and intriguing."

"Interesting," the chairman said thoughtfully, in a tone that sounded a lot like approval. "And how would you diagnose such a man?"

Toby mentally sorted through all of the various complexes, syndromes and illnesses he could think of, but he knew no single one could possibly apply. Finally, he sighed.

"He's nuts," he said simply. "I think there are some people in the world whose insanity can't be classified, and the Joker's one of them. He's just crazy, plain and simple."

The chairman didn't speak for a long time. Finally, he laughed, a deep, almost sinister rumble. It unnerved Toby.

"You'll do fine here, I think," he said, still chuckled.

After stepping out of the boardroom, Toby returned to the entrance, following instructions to wait for his orientation guide. The heads of Arkham had apparently been aware that they were forcing Toby to take the job, and had already pre-arranged his introduction to the asylum.

He stood near the desk, rapping his fingers nervously against the surface. Everything about Arkham Asylum unnerved him, from the pale whitewashed walls, to the occasional echoing scream, to the quiet, clearly haunted employees that walked the halls. He wished his guide would arrive soon so he could leave as quickly as possible.

"Toby Mawson?" He turned to see a doctor in a lab coat approach him. She appeared to be in her fifties or sixties, with a kindly wrinkled face and grey hair pulled back into a ponytail. Kind, but hard. Toby knew that she had seen things no-one should have to, but she had lasted, and remained human all the same.

"That's me," he said, grateful for someone to talk to in the oppressive asylum.

"My name's Dr. Gretchen Whistler. I'm one of the senior medical staff here at Arkham. I'm here to oversee your orientation." She extended a hand.

He took the outstretched hand, smiling. "Ready when you are."

She returned the smile. "Let's get started then." She turned and set off on a brisk pace, Toby following behind.

"First thing you should know?" she started. "Everything you've heard about this place is true. Worse in most cases. If you expect the worst, you won't be disappointed."

"Right," said Toby, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"So, we should probably start with a little background info about this place."

Gretchen then proceeded to outline in a grim voice the long and brutal history of The Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane.

It first began when its own architect went mad and hacked his workers to death with an axe. He was convicted and sentenced to spend the rest of his life in the same asylum he had been building.

The asylum was named after the mother of founder Amadeus Arkham; before then it was just the ordinary 'Arkham Hospital'. In the early 1900s, Arkham's mother, having suffered from mental illness most of her life, committed suicide. Amadeus then decided, as the sole heir to the Arkham estate, to remodel his family home in order to properly treat the mentally ill, so others might not suffer the same fate as his mother.

Prior to the hospital's remodelling, Amadeus worked in Metropolis, where he, his wife Constance, and his daughter Harriet, had been living for some time, but they moved back to his family home to oversee the remodelling. While there, Amadeus received a call from the police notifying him that Martin 'Mad Dog' Hawkins, a serial killer treated by Amadeus, had escaped from prison, and wanted his opinion on the murderer's state of mind.

Shortly afterwards, Amadeus returned to his home to find his front door wide open. Inside, he found the corpses of his wife and daughter in an upstairs room, his wife beheaded and Mad Dog's alias carved on Harriet's body. Despite the tragedy, the asylum officially opened that year. His sanity in pieces, Arkham designed a floor plan that evoked occult runes, believing that the pattern would drive away a mysterious bat that haunted his dreams.

One of its first patients was Mad Dog himself, who Arkham insisted on treating personally. After six months, Arkham strapped Mad Dog to an electroshock chair and deliberately electrocuted him. The staff treated the death as an accident, but it only contributed to Arkham's gradual descent into madness.

Eventually, Arkham was incarcerated in his own asylum, where he died.

"There's all sorts of urban legends surrounding the whole thing," Gretchen said in conclusion to the story. "From Mad Dog, to Arkham's death, it seems like someone finds something fishy in everything at Arkham."

"Wow," Toby said simply, shocked by the story. "Not exactly encouraging for the new guy. I wonder why anyone takes the job here, knowing all that."

"You're here, aren't you?" Gretchen pointed out. "Besides, in a place like this, you need to hear the bad stuff to prepare yourself for the even worse."

"Hey Gretchen, who's the new guy?" came a voice from behind them. Toby turned to see a tall, beautiful woman in a doctor's coat looking at them quizzically. She had soft hazel eyes and matching brown hair that hung free past her shoulders, rather than tied up like the rest of the female doctors at Arkham.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Mawson." he said as she caught up to them.

"Is "Doctor" your first name?" she asked teasingly.

"No, it's Toby," he said, smiling.

"Hi Toby. I'm Sarah. Sarah Cassidy." She extended a slender hand, which Toby took. "This place is enough like a mausoleum that we can do without the formality," she explained.

Toby was grateful for the immediate ice breaker. "Pleasure to meet you, Sarah," he said warmly. Now that he was closer, Toby noticed that the young, twenty-something doctor was extremely beautiful. Her features were not exotic or striking, but she had a youthful vitality and purity that made her almost shine.

"You too," she said, smiling back.

"So are you a psychiatrist here?" Toby asked, nodding to the text on her lab coat.

"Two years and counting." She didn't sound as unhappy about it as Toby would've expected. "And you're a new guy, huh?"

"Unfortunately," said Toby, grimacing.

"Most people share that sentiment on their first day," she said, understanding the way he was feeling. She glanced at Gretchen, who had been looking at them both with a faint smile. "I'm guessing you've already given him the guided tour, then?"

"Not yet," she replied. "But he's already gotten a good impression of the place - he interviewed 4479 on his first day here." Sarah's eyes widened and she looked at Toby in surprise.

"Brave guy," she said.

"4479?" asked Toby, confused.

"The Joker," Sarah explained. "It's his patient number." She shuddered. "I don't know how Dr. Young can stand him. Dr. Penelope Young is the Joker's regular psychiatrist," she explained in response to another quizzical look from Toby.

"Who would want a 'regular' anything with him?" Toby asked in bewilderment.

"Well, there is this one girl we've got here," Sarah sighed, rolling her eyes. "But I'll leave you to wait and see for yourself. Dr. Young though, she prefers research and study to humans. You get used to her, but you won't like her," she promised.

"I see. So not everyone here is like you?" Toby asked, slightly disappointed.

"Like me?" Sarah repeated, a faint frown creasing her forehead.

"Well, you're the first person I've seen that seems really, well... happy." Toby shrugged.

The frown disappeared and Sarah laughed. "I get that a lot. I guess this place doesn't affect me like it does you guys. The power of optimism, I suppose."

Sarah's pager beeped loudly, and she checked it, a slightly annoyed expression on her face.

"Crap," she muttered. She turned to the others and brightened again. "Well it was nice meeting you, Toby Mawson, but I've gotta run. I'll see you later, Gretchen." She started to walk off hurriedly, but then she turned back and made a grand gesture.

"Welcome to Arkham Asylum!" she called, with a smile. And with that, she turned a corner and left.

"I'll see you around, Sarah," Toby said to himself quietly, a tone of wonder and bewilderment in his voice.

"That's one hell of a kid," Gretchen said in amazement. "I have no idea how she manages to stay that chirpy in a place like this. She sure is something special." She shook her head. Toby was still staring down the corridor she had left, affected by the unexpected effervescense that Gretchen had pointed out.

He turned to see the old lady looking at him, a playful smirk on her face.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"You know what," she said, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. Toby tried to maintain his naive front, but a helpless grin grew on his face.

He coughed. "So, uh, shall we continue with the tour?"

Gretchen laughed a quiet chuckle, then turned down the hallway adjacent to the one Sarah had taken.

"Come on, junior," she said, still laughing. "Keep your mind on the job."

"Yes ma'am," Toby said obediently, trying and failing to keep an aloof expression in place.

Dr. Whistler went on to show Toby the rest of the asylym and its grounds over the next hour, narrating contantly with all of the know-how and insider knowledge that Toby would need if he was to work here.

She finally stopped in front of one of the doors in a corrider of offices, extending an inviting arm for Toby to enter.

"And this is where my tour ends. Your new office."

Toby turned the grey metal handle and stepped inside. It was a spacious office, like the rest of the archaic and vast asylum. Being unused, it had a barren, utilitarian appearance, a wide wooden desk in the centre, several filing cabinets to the side, and several chairs at the edges of the room and onn both sides of the desk. The walls were white, like the rest of the asylum, but the glow from the strip ceiling light gave it a slight blue tinge. Toby looked around for a moment, forcing himself to consider this room as the place he would be working, despite its off-putting surroundings.

"Well then, I must be off," said Gretchen, checking her watch. "Things to oversee and organise, people to order about, you know."

"Thanks for everything," Toby said gratefully, turning back to her.

"Hey, in this place, we've all got to stick together," she said, putting her hand on his arm affectionately. "Think of yourself as the new member of our big, happy, dysfunctional family."

"Do you think I'll make it?" asked Toby quietly, well aware of the asylum's history.

She thought about it for a moment, looking at him with searching eyes, and Toby knew that she was seriously considering it, rather than saying anything to comfort him. In a place like Arkham, you didn't have the luxury of white lies.

Finally, she nodded. "Yes. I think you'll do fine, kiddo." She smiled at him kindly before turning to leave.

Toby wanted to believe her - indeed, he almost did, he had so much faith in this tough old lady. But when the door closed behind her, the void of Arkham became complete once again, and the cold hand of dread closed around his heart.

Toby knew that he had never felt more afraid, nor so terribly alone as he did in his first day in the depths of Arkham Asylum.

Back in the boardroom, the discussion of Toby had been continuing.

"Do you think he's up to the task?" asked one of the board members.

"Does it matter if he isn't?" another smirked. "We can always find another."

"We'll see," replied the chairman shortly. "Are we all in agreement?" One by one, each of the board members nodded their approval.

The chairman leaned forward on the table, his face coming into the light. A short white beard protruded from his jaw. A pair of circular glasses sat atop his nose. Veins pulsed in his thick neck. His bald head and lined forehead glinted in the light, his eyes shadowed and obscured from view.

"Well then," said Hugo Strange, grinning a yellow smile. "Time to show our young newcomer just what lies inside Pandora's box."


	3. 50-50

It was clear that luck was not on Toby Mawson's side. Typical. It was just bloody _typical_. Toby had made it very clear to his superiors just how much he had relished interviewing the psychopathic mass-murderer known as the Joker. Anything above sheer revulsion would be wanton exaggeration. So, in an insane flash of cruel ingenuity, they had pressganged him into becoming a resident psychologist in Arkham Asylum.

_Arkham._ Just the name gave him shivers. The home of the criminally insane. What were they thinking turning it over to him? As he pulled up in his freshly painted reserved spot, Toby thought of some of the patients in the massive building. He had seen a few names blasted across the news recently. _Joker. Bane. _Some, he had heard breathed between other psychologists with whispered dread. _Quinzel. Zsasz._

But there was only one there who Toby had actually grown to respect and admire. The man had been a hero, a legend. He had almost single-handedly crippled organized crime in Gotham, locking up small time criminals and cutting off the big-time mobsters. They called him 'Gotham's White Knight', and 'the face of justice'. But not anymore. Now he was 'the fallen idol' and 'murdering psychopath'. This was the man that Toby had to meet.

He grabbed his briefcase, stepped out of his small black Mercedes, and jogged up to the asylum through the sheets of rain. The building loomed before him, a dark stony mirage that glowed brilliant white in the flashes of lightning. When he stepped inside, it was like walking into a mausoleum. There was no sound, not even an echoing voice, and a chill choked the air of any life or happiness. The cream walls and grey floor made it seem like Toby had just stepped through a portal from the real, colourful world, to a dull, monochrome one. _Good to be back,_ Toby thought bitterly, as he walked down a corridor to the side of the main entrance.

"Any possessions?" Toby asked the cop standing beside him as they walked down the hallway to the interviewee's cell. Toby had left his briefcase and heavy black coat in his office, and was brushing the water off his suit.

"Only a revolver and a coin," said the cop. Toby was eager to get in and get out, so the portly man had a hard time keeping up with his long strides.

"A coin?" Toby asked, frowning.

"Yeah, he's still got it with him."

"Why's that?"

"Well, he seems kinda attached to it." The cop coughed slightly. "He killed two cops and put another one in the ICU for trying to take it from him. We figured we might as well just let him have it."

"What's so great about the coin?"

"Nothing. It's one of those trick coins with two heads, but one side's charred black, like it was in a fire." He snorted. "He's just a nut."

"That's what I'm here to confirm."

"Confirm?" asked the cop, laughing. "Believe me, any idiot can see it, you don't need a doctorate."

"I guess this'll be a short interview then," said Toby giving the cop a small, sidelong smile. They stopped outside a cell and turned to face a thick metal door with an electronic lock. "Has he done or said anything while he's been in there?"

"He's just been sitting down in the corner, playing with that coin. He hasn't said a thing. Oh, there was one thing," he added. "When we tried to take the coin, he kept mentioning someone called Rachel. He was screaming "don't take her from me"."

Toby sighed. "Alright, thanks." The guard nodded, and strolled away. "Rachel Dawes..." Toby muttered under his breath. He had prepared several reports for Miss Dawes before; she was reported to be one of Gotham's best District Attorneys. And she had been, before she was killed in an explosion in the Gotham suburbs. He had read in several magazines about the quiet relationship she had been having with 'Gotham's saviour'.

"Definitely a subject to avoid," Toby told himself. Sighing, he typed in the key to the electronic lock, causing a loud buzz. He reached out, hesitated slightly, and opened the door.

The cell walls were coloured that same cream colour that has covered every hallway and cell since the invention of paint. The blankets on the low bed were a dark green, and the floor was a dark grey, like the hallway outside. The bed was by the wall, and a chair in the centre, but both were empty.

Seated on the bed at the end of the room, legs sprawled out in front of him, was Harvey Dent. He was facing away, so Toby could only see the right side of Dent's body. What he saw was a handsome man, with sandy blonde hair and tanned brown skin. His eyes were closed, and his head was angled back slightly, resting against the wall. He looked calm and peaceful, almost serene, like a monk in meditation. In his right hand, he was flipping a coin from finger to finger. The coin slid smoothly along his hand, back and forth, back and forth. One side of the coin was silver and shining, the crowned head of liberty stamped on its surface. But every time it changed finger, Toby glimpsed the other side of the coin. It was black, charred and cracked. On it was the face of the devil, a crown of thorns on its head. That side of the coin didn't shimmer with the reflection of the strip lights on the ceiling. It sucked in all brightness, and fed it to the darkness within. Toby took a step into the cell.

"Who are you?" asked Dent in a deep, clear voice that gave no hint of insanity, or even anger or hatred.

"My name is Dr. Toby Mawson," he said. "I'm a new psychiatrist at Arkham."

"Why are you here?" asked Dent, his voice still perfectly level and incurious.

"To assess your mental condition and establish whether or need you need to be here. You mind if I sit here?" Toby asked, pointing at the chair.

"You said you're new here," Dent stated, ignoring the question. "So am I the first person you're seeing?"

"Technically, yes," said Toby, sitting down.

"Then how can you assess my mental condition if you've got nothing to base it on? You can't use yourself because all crazy people think that they're not crazy. For all you know, _you_ are. It wouldn't exactly be fair to make a judgement on me without 'assessing' someone else. Not very equal at all."

"Actually I have," Toby pointed out. "I met the Joker about a week back."

"Ahh the Joker," said Dent, a small smile curling up the corner of his mouth. "Now there's a guy who's on the same wavelength as me."

"Well, the general consensus is that he's insane," said Toby flatly. "So doesn't that mean you should be here too, given that you're 'on the same wavelength'?"

"No", said Dent, the smile falling from his face. "Each individual should be given an equal chance."

"Well, you were given that chance. And you chose to do good," said Toby, thinking of the great Harvey Dent. The image in his mind darkened. "But then you turned against your cause, and turned to murder." Toby leaned forward. "What I really want to know is, why did you do it? Why did you fall?"

"'Good'," said Dent, sneering. "People like you use that word too much. People who believe in their own purity and virtue so much that they try and enforce it on others." His voice had rapidly become harsher and more menacing, and his face was no longer serene, but bitter. "But what is 'good'?" he asked Toby.

Toby paused for a moment, frowning slightly. "You can't define it, you just know it instinctively," he said. "The term is indefinable, but the meaning is there in your head."

"Well if the meaning is in your mind, then it's personal, subjective, different for each and every person. And of course, no man would consider harm to himself to be good, so what you consider to be 'right' is nothing more than selfish egoism and self-preservation."

"And the preservation of others."

"That's what you say to reassure yourself that you're in the right. But you're only looking out for yourself. Take murder, for example. You say killing _anybody_ is wrong, only because _you_ don't want to be killed. You can't say 'killing _me _is wrong' because that would be considered selfish."

"What does it matter about our intentions?" asked Toby, shrugging slightly. "The end result is that people aren't killed."

"Oh intentions and beliefs are everything when it comes to good and evil. A serial killer could believe that slaughtering virgins and bathing in their fresh, warm blood is good. That's his belief. But does that make it good? To you, no. That makes the term 'good' redundant, wouldn't you say?" Dent began to speak more earnestly, and the endlessly turning coin in his hand quickened its pace. His head was no longer leaning against the wall, instead straight upright and alert. "It's an illusion, nothing more than an empty excuse to do what you want. That same government that says you can't unload a shotgun slug into your neighbour says that it's absolutely righteous and necessary to drop a nuclear bomb on 100,000 strangers." Dent snorted in contempt. "Hypocrites, one and all."

"What do you consider to be good?" Toby asked curiously.

"I don't believe in good and bad, right or wrong."

"The rumour was that you like duality - clear-cut black and white scenarios."

"That kind of duality is an illusion, because there is no single right or a single wrong."

"Then what do you believe in?"

"Chance." Dent stopped flipping the coin and held it between his index finger and thumb. Twisting it to show Toby the clear side and the burnt side, and back again. "Fair, equal chance. 50/50." He said it like a devout worshipper praying to his deity.

"I don't understand," admitted Toby, frowning.

"Since right and wrong are obsolete, you cannot judge a human being. Every action and thought they have ever had has been biased and prejudiced, and everyone who examines them is biased and prejudiced. No one can be trusted with the decision. No one but Chance." He said it as if it were a name, a person. "Chance is the only constant, the only pure method. It is justice in its true form."

"So a man who murders, rapes and steals should be given the same chance as a man who cares for his kids, gives to charity and is faithful to his wife?" Toby asked sceptically.

"Exactly. Do you see the purity, the justice in it?" asked Dent earnestly, almost eagerly.

"Not really, no."

"That's because you can't let go of your own prejudices. "Good man". You can't give up on using that word, can you? You're so used to being able to judge people that you can't fully rise above such petty and narrow-minded perceptions."

"So if you had to choose, who would you send to prison?"

"I don't know. I'd flip a coin and see. A 50/50 chance. _That_ is what's equal. _That_ is what's fair. Oh, and I wouldn't send them to prison either, if luck wasn't on their side. I would kill them." The way he said it almost as an afterthought, without any care or interest in his tone sent a chill up Toby's spine.

"Why?"

"There are so many choices of what you can do in life. Choosing one of those fates would be affected by bias. Indeed, the very act of choice isn't fair. Who has the authority? Community service, forced labour, imprisonment, solitary confinement. Your fate in this life is determined by the perceived severity of your crimes. But in a fair chance, in a truly equal opportunity, the only options can be life and death. Everyone has an equal chance to live, or to die."

"Does that include you?" Toby asked, angered by Dent's attitude towards justice. "Are you willing to flip a coin over your life?"

"I already have." Dent chuckled. "And it seems that Lady Luck has a crush on me. She doesn't want to let me go."

"And what about me? Should I live, or should I die?" Toby couldn't believe what he was actually asking.

"Let's find out," said Dent. He balled his hand into a fist and balanced the coin on his thumb. With a flick, he sent the coin flying. The instrument of judgement spun in the air, and Chance toyed with it, playing a game with life and death. The coin landed on Dent's palm, and he put it on top of his other hand with a smack. Like the impact of a judge's mallet on the board. He drew the hand away slowly, and the shadows melted away, revealing a black coin.

Dent turned his head, and looked Toby dead in the eyes, and for the first time in their meeting, Toby saw the real Two-Face. While the right side of his face was full and unblemished, the left side was completely destroyed. There was no skin, and Toby could see the jaw muscles and teeth clench together. Charred black and crimson flesh lay on the surface, raw and burnt. But worst of all was the wide, perpetually staring eye, with no eyelid to blink. In that eye, Toby could see the fire that had killed Harvey Dent. He could see the fire from which this new monster, this Janus, had risen. And he could see the fire that burned with baleful hatred within the man's soul.

"**Looks like your luck's run out, pal**," growled Two-Face. He made a mock gun with his hand and pointed it directly at Toby's forehead.

Toby felt a chill run up his spine. "So, you're Two-Face."

"**Yes, we are**." When he spoke, it was lower and darker than Harvey, and he lingered on every 's' sound, like a vicious serpent in human form. "**The coin and the man, two faces for each**."

"Let me guess, there's a 50/50 chance of either side coming up?"

"**Of course**." Two-Face smiled. "**You're starting to understand us, Doctor.**"

"Can you tell me your side of the story? What's your angle on this 'flip-a-coin' method of morality?"

"**In that regard we see eye to eye**." Toby unwillingly looked at the ever-staring baleful eye, and quickly looked away again.

"Then what's the reason for the split?" he asked, trying to get the image of the inflamed crimson skin out of his mind. "How are you different from him?"

"**I am the one who guides him. I put him on the correct path when he strays. And he does, frequently**." He sounded bitter, resentful.

Toby cocked his head. "Example?"

"**He failed to act. He failed to protect the one we loved**."

_Rachel Dawes_. Toby knew he had to be careful here, any reference to her that didn't quite please Two-Face could set him off. He was just starting to see the other side, he couldn't risk breaking it off now.

"How could he have saved her?" he asked cautiously, echoing Two-Face's way of referring to Dent in the third-person.

"**He knew she would be targeted. He could have found the corruption within Gordon's unit. Cut away the rotting flesh with a cleansing blade. But no, he let them burn into him instead**." Two-Face shook his head, then turned so that his unburnt side was showing.

"He probably doesn't know what it's like." His voice was softer - Dent again.

_Was he talking to himself?_ Toby wondered. _And were the shifts this rapid?_ Dent glanced at Toby.

"Do you know, doctor? How it feels to be half a whole? To throw your life in another's hands without any fear of falling?" There was so much pain in his voice. Pain, grief and loss. Toby knew that none of his own brief relationships could even be compared to the love between these two people.

"No, I don't."

"Then you don't know what it's like to have that half of your heart ripped away, burnt and scattered to the ashes." As he spoke, his voice grew darker, and he turned his head again.

"**And it's your fault the fire claimed her**," said Two-Face.

"But you were in the same situation as her," Toby said, trying to console him. That wouldn't set him off. He looked down at the file in his hands and read off the information. "Tied to a chair in a warehouse full of oil drums. Both of you at opposite ends of the city. It would've been impossible for you to reach her in time, even if Batman had saved you sooner."

"**Excuses, excuses**." Two-Face tutted, shaking his head. "**Don't encourage him**."

"What happened to Rachel wasn't-"

Two-Face turned so both sides of his face could be seen, and slammed his fist down on the hard bed. "_SHUT UP_!" he yelled.

_Oh shit. _"Harvey."

"DON'T_ EVER_ SAY HER NAME!" he bellowed. Both eyes, one burning with hatred and the other blurring with tears bored into Toby, and both voices screamed out at him.

"Okay, I won't. Just relax."

He breathed heavily. "You don't deserve to speak of her! It's because of you! It's because of them! It's because of everyone that she's dead!" His looked down at his fists in his lap, shaking with uncontrollable rage.

"Does that include you?" Toby asked tentatively.

He raised his head. It was Two-Face. "**That depends. Which one of us are you asking**?" He sounded so calm. It was like they were different people. Toby caught the irony of his own thoughts.

"Both of you, I suppose."

"**_He_**** doesn't think he's responsible. Always blaming everyone else.**"

"And what do you think?"

"**What's it to you?**" Two-Face narrowed his eye. "**Our thoughts are ours alone.**"

"That's quite a paradox. You obviously think differently. And yet, you share the same mind."

"**Someone had to fill the space left by her. One that could do better.**"

His head suddenly turned to Dent, and contorted. He seemed to be struggling. "No," he gasped, straining. He changed back.

"**You're right, we shouldn't be telling him these things**," said Two-Face. He glared at Toby. "**We should kill him. Prying into our business. We should kill them all for imprisoning us. They all deserve to die.**"

"No. _No._"

"**What's that, you want to talk now?**" taunted Two-Face. "**Done with your pathetic anger?**"

"You're only calling yourself pathetic," said Dent.

"**Oh no, Harvey. We may be roommates in the little cell called your mind, but we're two very different people.**"

"You're out of control; I have to stop you!"

"**I'm out of control?**" Two-Face repeated in disbelief. "**Thanks to me, we're in more control than you've ever known. I've given us purpose. A path. Unhindered by deliberation and doubt; everything that held you back before. All that is left is the coin.**" Two-Face raised it to his eye. "**Only the judgement: life or death. And we are its instrument.**" Again, like a worshipper praying to his deity.

"We're serving a terrible master," said Dent. He sounded in pain, unwilling. "This man, he's done nothing to us. Yet the coin judged him."

"**Nothing to us?**" Two-Face repeated again. "**Still so selfish. Only worrying about personal slights. He's part of the system that is imprisoning us here. Enforcing his false justice on the world. And he must have done wrong some time in his life.**"

"But everyone has," Dent protested.

"**Exactly. They all deserve judgement.**" He clenched the coin so hard that his knuckles paled to a deathly white. He raised his eyes to the ceiling, and the sky beyond it. "**The goats will be cast into the fire,**" he breathed. "**And the sheep will learn from their trespasses and embrace the truth.**"

"But this is wrong! It's not right! It's not fair!"

"**Don't be weak!**" spat Two-Face. "**Your weakness cost you everything once. It cost you half your life!**"

"No, that was chance, fate." He sounded like he was repeating something he'd told himself over and again, like a mantra. "We can't alter the balance, even for our own benefit."

"**You're pathetic. Trying to justify your own failure. Trying to forge an explanation.**"

"There was no reason for her death. That's the way the Joker works: no reason, only instinct."

"**No, you know why it happened. She died because you were biased. She died because you were weak.**"

"You're wrong." Dent covered his ears. "I'm not listening!"

"**She died because of ****_you_****!**" Two-Face was relentless.

"No, it was the Batman..."

"**Blaming it on others, as always.**"

"... and Gordon. And The Joker. And all those cops that betrayed justice."

"**They weren't betraying true justice, none of them were. Even Joker.**"

"But they were all so selfish, doing everything for their own gain, no matter the cost for others. No matter that it cost Rachel her life."

"**So why didn't you kill them before she paid the price of their selfishness?**"

"I... we can't change fate."

"**No, but we can quicken fate's hand. Bring the hammer down on them sooner rather than later.**"

"That's no different!"

"**How many people would we save by killing one? How much suffering, how much pain? She would have survived, if you'd had the will to act.**"

"I had the will, but it wouldn't have been fair."

"**Less fair than her death? Stop trying to hide from the fact that ****_you_**** are responsible.**"

"Stop it!"

"'**Stop it!**'" Two-Face echoed his words in a child-like sing-song voice. "**Gonna cry?**" he taunted. "**You're a child! Pathetic!**"

"I hate you," Dent whispered.

"**It doesn't matter if you do. I am part of you. I ****_am _****you. But either way, you don't hate me. You hate the fact that I'm here, and she's not.**"

"Go away!"

"**Go away? I can't go away! You created me! I didn't ask for any of this!**" There was pain buried deep beneath his anger.

"Then I'll un-create you. Just leave me!"

It was a long time before he turned back to Two-Face. "**Where would you be without me?**" he demanded quietly. When his head began to turn back, he yanked against it and grew angry, shouting. "**How far have we come because of me! You needed to become strong, but you couldn't do it alone. So you made me. To help you. And yet, you fight me every step of the way! But we ****_will_**** make the choice, regardless. The just choice. And in the end, you will thank me. Together, we are strong.**"

"Power corrupts."

"**Like I said before, we are not the power, we are only the instrument. And an instrument cannot move, it can only be moved.**" He flipped the coin across his fingers.

Harvey didn't respond; Two-Face didn't turn around. He smirked, then addressed Toby, not looking at him. There was only the burnt side of Two-Face to see.

"**I don't have anything to say to you, doctor,**" he said. "**I want you to leave now.**" He had reverted to his original tone. Monotone, uncaring, neutral. Toby had learnt more from silence than speech, and there was nothing he could say anyway. He stood without a word and turned to the door.

"**Remember, doctor.**" Toby turned, and Two-Face held up the burnt side of his coin. "**Your luck's run out.**"

And with that, Harvey Two-Face sat down on his bed, closed the one eye he could, and became silent.

Toby left the room. Just as he closed the door, he heard a tapping sound as the coin resumed its endless revolutions across Two-Face's fingers. The door slammed with a buzz as the electronic lock reset. Toby walked briskly down the hall to his office, his shoes clicking against the floor.

It sounded like the patient drumming of Fate's fingers.


	4. Eeny Meeny

It was Toby Mawson's day off, and he had never felt happier than when he was away from Arkham Asylum. The insanity of the place had been starting to get to Toby, and he had been looking forward to his day off

He had spent the morning lounging in bed, enjoying the quiet serenity of the late morning, before getting up and wolfing down a breakfast that could have fed three people in his favourite cafe.

He was walking back to his apartment through the narrows, basking in the afternoon sun's rays, when his near-perfect day started to turn sour.

"'Scuse me!" came a voice from behind Toby. He ignored it and carried on walking. There were no good Samaritans in Gotham; stopping to talk to a stranger on the streets was suicide.

"Oi, mate!" That was twice. Warning signals went off in Toby's head. He instinctively checked his peripheral vision for threats and judged the distance between him and the nearest safe building. It was too far to risk.

Checking inside his jacket pocket, he felt nothing. Panicking, he went through the rest of his pockets. "Shit," he muttered. He had left his tazer at home. Sighing, he stopped and turned to face the speaker.

He was a short, stocky man, with tattoos on his neck and arms – clearly a bruiser for a local gang or the Mob. His face looked slightly uneven and bumpy, as if many of the bones in his face had been broken repeatedly in his life. His head was bald and scarred, and he was dressed in a navy blue suit that looked like it didn't fit. Toby could clearly see a badly concealed, or perhaps deliberately ostentatious, gun tucked into the waistband of his trousers.

"Afternoon, gov," he said in a strong cockney accent. "Fancy going for a little ride with us?" He gestured, and a black sedan pulled up next to them and the door opened.

"Do I have a choice?" Toby asked flatly.

"No, you bloody well don't," the man said cheerfully. "Get in the car."

"Fine."

Without warning, Toby exploded into action. He swung a fist, catching the bruiser in the jaw and sending him sprawling on the ground. Without looking back, Toby turned and sprinted to a nearby alley. The buildings looked mostly derelict; he didn't have much hope of someone helping him or calling the police. Besides, this was Gotham.

"Hey! Stop!" the bruiser shouted. Toby heard the sound of doors opening and slamming, and running feet behind him. He was almost at the alley's entrance. Toby prayed that it wasn't a dead end.

"Go around!" he heard, just as he reached the alley. "You stay here in case he doubles back!"

Toby swung round the corner, breathing heavily. The alley had several branching side paths between buildings and warehouses, and he picked on at random, charging towards it. This time, it was a dead end. Swearing, Toby ran back out, heading towards another side alley.

Then he heard a sound, one he had rarely heard in his life, but he recognised it instantly nonetheless. It was the audible click of a gun chambering a round.

Toby didn't think. He just reacted on instinct, and hurled himself forward into a dive. With a thunderous detonation, the gun went off, and he heard and felt the spray of dust as the bullet collided with the brick wall. Rolling across the floor, Toby hurriedly crawled behind a skip, his heart thundering in his chest.

The bruiser swore. He made several cautious steps towards the mouth of the alley. The steps got closer and closer, mixing with Toby's heartbeat in a sharp staccato beat.

_Thump thump click thump thump click thump thump click._

Everything seemed to slow down to a crawl, and Toby saw everything in perfect clarity. The impacts of the thug's shoes were like earthquakes, and the final one came just next to the skip. He watched in detached fascination as his assailant came into view. He saw the look of recognition cross his face in slow motion.

"There you are," he said, and his voice was deep and slurred. He raised his gun.

Then time returned to normal, and Toby launched forward, tackling the thug to the ground. The gun went off again, smashing into the wall. The thug's head cracked against the wall, and the gun fell from his hands, skidding across the ground as his eyes glazed.

Toby scrambled for the gun as the thug groaned and rolled over onto his front. Then Toby froze as he saw a foot step on top of the gun, just as he grabbed it with his hand. He looked up straight into the barrel of a gun.

"Let go, and step back," the gunman said quietly.

The jig was up, Toby knew. He slowly unfolded his hand from the gun and rose to his feet. From a different angle, he saw that the gunman was a heavy, almost portly man, with a head of very closely cut red hair. He was dressed in a red shirt with a brown jacket and trousers, and his face looked as beaten up as the first man's.

"Put your hands on your head!" he ordered. Toby complied. "Now walk out and back to the car. Try anything, and I'll shoot your fucking foot off and drag you there."

It was pointless and too dangerous to try anything. Toby slowly walked back out of the alley and towards the car. He heard the first thug get to his feet, groaning, and pick up his gun, following them.

As they approached the car, another man came from the other side of the buildings, hurrying towards them with a nervous, excited step. He was dressed garishly, in clashing combination of red shirt, blue trousers and a green jacket. He had a mohawk, dyed in two stripes of red and yellow.

"Did you get him? What happened? Are you alright?" he asked in a quick excited voice. He spoke with the same cockney accent as the other two, but he sounded much younger.

"What does it look like, you moron?" the first man said in an irritated voice, obviously still in pain.

They opened the back door of the car and shoved Toby inside. The portly man sat in the driver's seat, while the other two sat on either side of Toby, squishing him in. They drove off, and as they passed the nearby buildings, Toby saw people peeking from behind windows. Same old Gotham.

"Now, are we gonna have any more trouble?" growled the first man.

"No," said Toby, sighing.

"I thought not. But just to make sure, I'm gonna have my friend here pointing his gun at your bollocks for the entire trip." The colourful thug on Toby's right positioned his gun as specified. The other looked slightly upset that he wasn't picked to do it.

"You move, he shoots. Understand?"

"Got it." Toby's heart had slowed to a moderate level, and he started to think clearly again. "Where's 'there'?" he asked.

"It's a surprise," the thug said shortly. "Wait and see."

"Who are you?"

"Law enforcement."

"I'd like to see your badges then, officers," Toby said dryly.

"Very fucking funny," the thug said sarcastically.

"Isn't kidnapping against the law?"

"We decide the laws here." Mob enforcers, Toby decided.

"Is one of them having mashed-up faces?" Toby asked, looking at their scarred faces and off-set noses.

"As a matter of fact it is," the thug said, his patience clearly run out. "And you're about one more bloody question away from becoming a law-abiding citizen. Shut up."

For once, Toby controlled himself and kept his mouth shut. They continued driving in a silence broken only by the thug Toby had tackled hissing in pain every time the car went over a bump. After several minutes, they pulled up outside a building Toby vaguely recognised. As he was pulled out of the car, he read the large sign on top of the wide entrance.

_Gotham Aquarium_.

"The aquarium?" Toby asked doubtfully.

"Move," the portly thug said, ignoring him and pushing him forward. He took out some keys and unlocked the doors, pushing Toby inside.

The aquarium was closed for the day, and the entire building was dark, illuminated only by emergency lights. They gave the swirling shoals of fish and other marine animals an eerie, sinister look, and twitching shadows flickered across the walls and floor.

They walked through to the employees section of the building, climbing some stairs to the top of a deep pool, murky with darkness. Stepping across the tiled floor to the side of the pool, one thug dragged a chair across the floor with a scrape, and another forced Toby into it.

"Who are you people?" Toby asked, exasperated.

The man in the blue suit, placed on his chest. "I'm Fisher." He indicated the portly man. "This is Rob." He pointed to the colourful kid. "And this is Parr."

"Nice to meet you," Toby said in a tone that said the exact opposite. "So what's this all about?"

Fisher grabbed the side of Toby's chair, twisting around so his back was to the pool. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "Ever heard of a man called Oswald Cobblepot?" he asked.

Everyone had heard of Oswald Cobblepot, more commonly known as the Penguin. On the surface, he was a businessman with perfectly legitimate dealings, but everyone knew that he owned most of the arms and drug dealers in Gotham. It was rumoured he had fingers in pies all throughout the bureaucracy as well, insuring his protection. "Occasionally," Toby said blandly.

"Then you're aware of how powerful he is?"

"I don't know the specifics, but sure."

"Well, he owns half the city's judges, lawyers, cops, and criminals. He even owns the freakin asylum."

_What was this?_ "The Penguin owns Arkham?" he wondered out loud.

"Right. So if you have even a shred of interest in self-preservation, you'll show some respect for your employer." He glared at Toby. "_And_ his associates."

"You, I take it?"

"Right," he agreed, clenching his fist. "Now, Mr. Cobblepot values loyalty above most other things, and he wants to ensure his employees have that loyalty." Standing up straight, Fisher twisted Toby's chair back around so he was facing the pool. Toby saw the surface of the water ripple, and a dark shape moved underneath.

Fisher nodded to Rob, who reached from inside his jacket, taking out a brown paper wrapping. He unfurled it, and hurled a thick piece of meat into the pool. It hit the water's surface, and a shiver went across the water.

"Eeny meeny miny mo!" shouted Parr.

It happened in an instant, seemingly coming out of nowhere. With a titanic splash, the upper half of a massive shark burst free from the water. Toby flinched back, his chair skidding against the floor as he stumbled back. Rob took his arm in a vice-like grip. The meat was snapped up with huge razor sharp teeth and disappeared down its massive pink gullet. It was at least the size of a car, probably more, and it came down on the water's surface with a loud crack, disappearing beneath the surface. Its dull grey skin was invisible in the inky pool, and besides the waves on the water, it was as if nothing had happened. But Toby knew it was down there.

"Mawson, meet Tiny," Fisher introduced the shark, smiling. "Now, how do you want me to introduce you – Dr. Mawson, or dinner? Your choice, doc."

"Uh, Dr. Mawson, thanks," said Toby, breathing heavily.

"Good answer. Tiny, meet Mawson." There was a small ripple, and Toby saw the swish of a huge jagged tail in the dark depths.

"Hi Tiny," Toby said, staying well away from the water's edge.

"Now, you're a smart bloke, so I'm sure you understand the situation here, but I'm gonna spell it out, just in case." Fisher gestured towards the pool. "Tiny here is like an expert garbage disposal unit. Any of Penguin's property we want disposed, we chuck in here, and it disappears like _that_." He clicked his fingers. "Now, there is one important fact you need to remember – _you_ are Penguin's property. To him, you're no more important than a gun or a bag of coke. Penguin _owns _you. And like the rest of his property, you can be disposed." Toby eyed the water's edge again.

"Doesn't that make you his property as well?" Toby asked, unthinking. "You could get disposed of as well."

Without changing expression, Fisher backhanded him across the face with a thick meaty hand, and he stumbled to the side. Toby winced, his mouth stinging. He tasted the metallic tang that told him he was bleeding.

"Penguin wants to make sure that, should the occasion present itself, you'll be willing and available to help," Fisher continued.

"With something illegal?" Toby's mouth felt numb.

"If necessary," Jay replied. "And of course, you are to keep all of this to yourself. Do you understand?"

Toby nodded.

"Now, who owns you?" Fisher asked in a dangerously quiet voice, stepping close enough to Toby's face that he could smell his rancid breath. Toby glared at him and didn't answer. Fisher's eyes narrowed. Grabbing Toby by his collar, he dragged him to the side of the pool, holding his head just above the water.

"Woah woah woah!" Toby shouted, holding himself up from the water by his hands and straining back.

"If you even touch that water, Tiny's gonna bite your fucking head off," he growled. "So tell me, who owns you?" Toby didn't answer again. He gasped as Fisher jerked him forward, his head coming within inches of the water's surface.

"_Who owns you?" _Fisher yelled in Toby's ear.

"Penguin! Penguin owns me!" Toby shouted desperately.

"What are you? _What are you?_"

"I'm his property!" Toby said, surrendering. "Let me go!"

Fisher smirked. "Alright." He pushed Toby forward without warning, and the tips of his hair plunged into the water for half a second.

The colossal creature burst out of the water with an explosive impact, just as Toby hurled himself backwards in terror. The shark's massive jaws collided with the edge of the pool as it snapped angrily at the place Toby had been kneeling. With a final malevolent thrash, the shark slowly slid back into the water. Its empty black eyes were on Toby the entire time. The young doctor sat against the wall as far away from the edge of the pool as possible, gasping and shaking.

Fisher chuckled and walked to Toby. But the smile fell from his face as he reached down and yanked Toby's head back violently.

"My head and jaw are in _agony_," he hissed. "Only fair that I return the favour." He twisted his mouth in consternation. "But the boss says you've gotta be able to talk. So instead..."

He nodded to Rob and Parr standing on either side of Toby. They grabbed his arms and dragged him in place with hands like steel clamps. Jay stood in front of him, flexing his fingers. Toby waited for the blow, preparing himself. When it came, it crashed into his stomach with such astounding force that he doubled over, gasping. Jay punched him again, and Toby legs gave out. But he couldn't fall to the ground. His two pillars held him up, and they continued to, all the way through the beating. Even when Toby lost consciousness, and slipped into a dark, rushing void.

When Toby came to, they were dragging him by the arms across the tarmac outside the aquarium. His feet scraped on the ground behind him. He was dropped on the floor like a sack of potatoes, and lay there, limp, too dead to move.

Jay kicked him across the cold ground. "Now get the hell outta here," he snarled.

Toby dragged himself to his feet, wincing at the aching pain in his belly and face.

_How long had they kept it up after I blacked out?_

He stumbled forward, forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other.

"Run home, little rabbit!" shouted Rob.

"Run home, run home, run home!" taunted Parr. They burst into raucous laughter. Their cackling followed Toby down the street, reverberating in his ears.

Toby ran the entire way home. He didn't stop, not once. Not when his lungs were screaming for air, when his chest burned, or when his vision flickered and started to go dark. Only when Toby stumbled up the last step and slammed shut his door did he finally slump to the floor. He sucked in great lungfuls of air into his heaving lungs. He was shaking from terror, pain and exhaustion and after a moment, he dragged himself to his feet.

He stumbled to his bedroom, using the wall for support. He knew he should clean himself up first, and check for any serious injuries, but he couldn't even think of moving any more than necessary. Just before he slumped down, he heard a sound behind him. Any other time, Toby would've shrugged it off, but his nerves were in such a state that he instantly froze and became alert. Slowly, he turned to the source of the sound.

In the darkness, there shone two pale white eyes, glowing faintly. They were staring at Toby.

A dark shape burst from the shadows and rushed towards Toby, monstrous wings fluttering at its sides. He lurched to his feet, knocking over his chair, and stumbled backwards. The beast reached Toby, and grasped his neck with one hand, and his arm with the other. It shoved Toby against the wall with tremendous force. He was too petrified to scream for help. The beast held him there, and looked around the room.

As it turned its head, Toby saw that it wasn't a beast at all, but a man. He wore a billowing sable cape, and a mask with skyward-pointing ears. A thick suit of black body armour covered him, and on it was emblazoned the symbol of a...

"Holy sh-" Toby breathed.

"Shhh," Batman interrupted, eyes flicking around the room. He seemed to be satisfied that the vicinity was clear, and turned back. Toby wondered if Batman was satisfied that no-one was around to hurt Toby, or that no-one was around to help him. He hoped it was the former.

Letting Toby go, he pushed him into the chair beside his desk. Toby was starting to notice a terrible pattern emerging in his day.

"I want you to listen to me very carefully," Batman said. "And don't try to run." His voice was eerie and chilling; it was a rasping whisper, like a revenant returned from the grave to seek vengeance.

Toby quickly nodded. Although he could only make out vague shapes and outlines, Batman seemed to be able to see perfectly in the darkness.

"Today, you met with several thugs working under the Penguin. Why?"

"I didn't meet with them; they kidnapped me."

"Why?"

"To threaten me. They wanted to make sure I would help out if they needed me to do something. I think it was because I work at Arkham."

"And will you?" Batman said ominously.

Toby went very cold. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I don't want to break the law, but that... that _thing_. If you'd seen it..." Toby trailed off, thinking of the monstrous shark, Tiny.

"The shark? I have. I understand your position, doctor." He paused. "And I think I can help you out."

"You can?" Toby felt a wild surge of hope; if anyone could help him, it was Batman.

"If you do something for me," Batman continued. The hope dimmed somewhat.

"What do you mean?"

"You're a good man, doctor. And you've just found yourself in a position where you can obtain information about Penguin's operations. You may even be able to help to thwart them."

"You want me to work for you undercover," Toby stated in disbelief. It wasn't a question, but Batman answered.

"Yes. It's dangerous, but of the three options you have available to you, it's by far the safest."

"How do you figure that out?" Toby asked, confused.

"Well, what do you think your chances are against Tiny?" Toby shuddered. "I thought so. Then there's the second option – working with the Penguin." Batman leaned close to Toby. "What do you think your chances are against _me_?" he whispered.

Toby shrank back. "I thought so," said Batman.

"But if you choose to work with me, I can guarantee your safety. I'll look out for you."

"What, you can protect me 24/7?" Toby asked doubtfully.

"Not just me. You'll be working with Commissioner Gordon and his men as well."

Toby had heard of the Commissioner and his uncompromising stand against crime, but it wasn't him that he was worried about.

"Half the cops in the city work for the Penguin anyway," Toby said wearily.

"Not Gordon's men," Batman assured him. "You can trust them."

Toby thought for a moment, but there was really nothing to think about. Batman was right – it was the safest option available to him. He certainly wasn't going to choose to go up against Batman or the shark. He wasn't sure which was worse, but he was sure having Batman on his side was a definite advantage.

"What do you want me to do?" Toby asked in a resigned voice.

In the near total darkness, Toby thought he saw Batman smile slightly. He placed a small device on Toby's table.

"I'll be in touch," he said. He drew back into the shadows outside the room, and disappeared. Toby waited a moment, then hurried after him, but he only saw an empty window, curtains fluttering in the wind. He closed it, and turned back to his room, no longer caring if anything else happened to him. He just wanted to sleep.

Finally sinking into his bed, Toby thought back on the events of the day.

_Some day off_, he thought bitterly, before falling into a deep dreamless sleep.


	5. Bars

Toby felt trapped. Arkham Asylum was the worst possible place to be trapped in, that much was obvious. Corruption on the outside, insanity on the inside. It was all too much.

The Penguin had trapped him there to assist in anything that Toby might be needed for, probably illegal. And the Batman had trapped him there as an informant to help thwart Penguin's schemes.

Panicked thoughts of escape ran through his mind as he walked the corridors of Arkham, late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. Every crazy notion that occured to him was quickly dismissed.

"Toby?"

He looked up, snapping out of his reverie. Sarah Cassidy stood in front of him with a concerned expression on her face. Her soft hazel eyes were kind but worried as they looked on him.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Toby tried a wan smile. "I'm fine," he lied. "I'm just having trouble getting used to Arkham."

Sarah smiled back understandingly. "No place like it, is there? And not in the good way." She tilted her head sympathetically. At first, Toby was irritated by her pity. But then, he realised that she had gone through the same thing as he, and she probably hadn't had anyone showing her concern. His tense body relaxed slightly.

"I'm not really sure if this is the right place for me."

"Well, if you do decide to stay, know that you've got a friend here."

This time, the smile he gave her was genuine. "I'll remember that, thanks."

"Anytime." She walked past him and around the corridor. Toby turned to watch her go. The smile lingered on his face long after she'd left.

_So there's at least two human beings in this place. And one of them is my friend._

Toby looked down at the bio on his next patient. The smile faded, blown away by the tragic gust of wind on the clipboard.

_Lyle Bolton_

_Aliases: Lock-Up_

Toby had heard about this one.

_Occupations: Police Officer_

The guy had been a cop, one of the best. It was said that he'd locked up half of Gotham's criminals, most of them repeatedly. Hell, he'd even put a few of Arkham's residents inside. It had seemed as if the guy had a grudge against the Mob. And understandably too - the guy had spent 20 years and 2 marriages on putting cirminals away, and a week or so after each one, some corrupt official or crime boss got them out again. The word was, he got so tired of it that he gave up. Had a marriage that actually worked, baked a bun in the oven. Then some criminal with a grudge on Bolton came along and shot them down.

Bolton survived, but the wife and kid weren't so lucky. Toby looked down at the pictures of the crime scene.

"Poor guy," he muttered.

No one could believe it when he turned up at work the day after the funeral. It seemed like nothing had changed. No one was ever brave enough to mention what happened. No one was sure how he would react. And no one saw any need to bother. If anything, he was even more determined to stop crime. He took down everything from corrupt judges to petty liquor store robbers.

At first, it just seemed like he was being thorough. But someone noticed that he hadn't brought in a single criminal in months. And the ones that he did were always found dead in the cells. And yet, criminals were disappearing off the streets.

Toby flipped through the thick section marked 'Victims'. The man who killed his family? Dead. Toby didn't have much sympathy there. The judge who got him out? The lawyer who defended him? The Mob boss who paid off the jury? All dead. Everyone suspected, but no one was going to stand up in defence of the Mob. But when they found the bodies of the man who sold him the gun, and the little old lady who'd rented the apartment he'd stayed in turned up, they started to get a little nervous.

Eventually they'd caught him murdering an innocent, and now he was locked up with the very people he'd put inside. Just another mass-murderer.

Toby sighed, stood up, and left his office. As usual, walking down the corridors of Arkham felt like a near-death experience, with the off-white walls and empty, echoing hallways. When he did see another person, there wasn't much warmth in their greetings. Toby was new, and the other person was usually as uncomfortable as him in the Asylum, no matter how long they had been there.

He entered the interview room to find Bolton already seated there. He was a big man, with a body like a tree trunk, and arms almost as large. He had scars and bullet holes all over his body, testament to his vast experience as a cop. He looked to be in his early fifties, but Toby couldn't be sure if that was his true age. He could understand if the events of his life, and his time in Arkham, could have aged him considerably. Toby was already starting to feel weary after only a short time here.

Bolton looked up as Toby walked in. His eyes were as hard and stony as his broad face, and almost as dark as his black hair and stubble. He looked like a man who could endure any pain and carry on walking. Toby sat down and placed the file on the table in front of him.

"So, Mr. Bolton," he started.

"Lyle." His voice was rough and gravelly.

"Lyle, my name is Toby Mawson, I'm a new doctor here at Arkham."

"Doctor?" He snorted. "Try inmate."

"Last time I looked, you were the one behind bars, not me."

"Oh, I'm a prisoner too. But only my body. My mind is free, while yours is chained down."

"You mind explaining that?"

"People only do what laws tells them to do. But laws are weak because they are subjective. What one person damns another person glorifies. Everything works so much better if we drop the lies and do what we want, in our hearts."

For a moment, Toby pictured Lyle with a Glasgow smile, blood dripping from the scars on his cheeks. "You know, I spoke to the Joker, and he told me the exact same thing. What does that say about you?" Toby winced inside. He wondered if it was a mistake to compare Lyle with the Joker.

"If the whole world went crazy with only one sane man left, would anyone believe him?"

"If there was only one insane man on earth, and the rest of the world was sane, would anyone believe him?"

"Therein lies the problem. But you see, we are all insane. Every single one of us."

"Given my occupation as a psychiatrist, I have to disagree."

"But that's the point. Insanity is when you construct an incorrect view of the world, and fully believe in it. We all do this. You tell yourself, "I look nice today", when really you're just a decaying, rotting piece of matter just like everyone else."

"I don't think I've ever told myself that."

"No, but you still do the same thing. Right now, you're telling yourself that you have a job that means something, and that you're helping the criminals in here."

_Criminals like you_, Toby thought. "For argument's sake, let's say that we don't make a difference here. Does that mean we shouldn't try?"

"What's the point in doing it if it doesn't change anything? Find something to do with your life that actually gives you satisfaction. Because you're damn sure not having an effect on this place."

"Rehabilitation isn't an effect?"

Lyle laughed out loud, long and hard. "You actually think you can rehabilitate these people?" He laughed again.

"Forgive me for having a little faith in humanity," said Toby testily.

"Do you have any idea what these people do inside? They plan their escape. And they do escape, frequently. And when they get out, they plan things that will get them put back inside. And so, the cycle repeats."

"Eventually, they'll realise the futility of escaping. Sooner or later, we'll reach them, and bring them back." Toby repeated the mantra he'd been telling himself. It was his rosary, his little rune of protection in this dark world.

"No, they'll keep escaping. They won't change, and you'll just keep locking them up again." Lyle sighed and shook his head. "The cycle never ends."

_Why did he keep saying 'you'?_ "Hey, I'm not the one who locks them up," said Toby, starting to get annoyed. "I just evaluate you. I try and bring you back to sanity."

This only seemed to encourage Lyle, and he leaned forward in his chair. "More evidence suggesting you're a prisoner. They've got you trapped, isolated in your little cell, cut off from everyone else. You're the king of your little segment of honeycomb." He made a grandiose gesture, spreading his arms out in a mocking image of welcome. "But you don't see the bigger picture. You can't see the queen controlling you behind the walls of the beehive. You don't see yourself the way I see you. You know what I see?" He paused. Toby waited. "A drone. A worker. A prisoner. A slave."

Toby didn't know what to say. He knew that Lyle was insane, and had a distorted view on life. Why else would he be here? Looking down at his file, Dr. Young's analysis confirmed it. Then why was that small part of Toby agreeing with what was said? Toby frowned at the uncomfortable feeling.

Lyle spoke up again. "I knew a guy on the force. Blake. Detective Blake." He smiled.

Toby felt a flash of recognition. "John Blake?" he asked. This was interesting. Blake was a good man, and a cop no less. He could be a good influence on Lyle.

"You know him?"

"Yeah, we worked together on a case for a few months." They had been investigating a series of deaths and crimes centring around the tunnels underneath Gotham. Toby had been called in to identify patterns in the kills, and to see if it was a known suspect. It was just a psycho. Plain and simple. "I never saw him after that. Do you know what happened to him?"

_Hopefully not through your 'work'_, Toby thought silently.

"I was gonna ask you the same thing. See, Blake, he understood me." Maybe not such a good influence after all. "He knew the truth about your so-called 'order'," Lyle sneered. "He used to say that there's a point, far out there when the structures fail you, and the rules aren't weapons anymore, they're shackles letting the bad guy get ahead. The system is the enemy, because it is based on mercy."

"Some people would say that mercy is a good thing."

"I wonder who." Lyle pretended to think. "Oh, that's right, the people who created the system."

"Is that why you became a murderer, Lyle? It seems like you've lost more than you've gained. If you hadn't, I would be calling you Officer Bolton right now. You would be respected. Loved, even. Loved for protecting people from harm."

"That's why I kill them," Lyle said earnestly. "If you lock someone up, they'll always get out. They'll post bail, they'll live out their sentence, they'll escape – whatever. Sooner or later, that person is back on the streets, in the very environment where they killed in the first place." Lyle was becoming increasingly bitter, sounding as he was biting, chewing and spitting out the words he was saying. "And do you think being locked up with a thousand other psychopaths and murderers is gonna soften their dispositions?"

"Prison helps to rehabilitate criminals," said Toby. He was spouting the bull he'd had to pick up on the job. "The time inside gives them the opportunity to reflect on what they've done, and to realise, with help, that it is wrong."

It didn't work on Lyle. He knew the truth about what it was like inside, particularly in Arkham. "It's kinda hard to reflect on what you've done when someone's shoving a knife in your gut and someone else is ramming their prick into your ass. No, prison only makes things worse. It only makes _people_ worse."

"And your solution to this is just to kill them?" Toby asked dubiously.

"It's the only sure method. Some of the crazies have been in here for decades. And what's changed, huh? Nothing!" He sounded anguished at the thought. "When they get out, they'll just do it again and again. No, death is the only true lock up."

_So that's where the name came from_, thought Toby.

Toby thought about what he knew about Lyle's past. Why would he suddenly develop such an obsession with use of overwhelming force? Then he got it. He had to be careful here, to avoid pushing Lyle over the edge into madness.

"I think you're just applying a personal trauma to everyone else," he said slowly. "A single incident doesn't-"

"Incident?" Lyle asked incredulously. "Is that what you're calling it?" Lyle slammed his fists down on the table. "A GODDAMN INCIDENT?!" he screamed. The guard outside the door burst in, took a single look at Lyle's furious expression and the veins bulging in his arms and neck, and reached for his tazer.

"No, no, it's okay," Toby said hurriedly. The guard lowered his tazer reluctantly, never taking his eye off Lyle. Toby turned back. "Lyle, calm down."

If anything, Lyle became even more enraged. "You people make me sick! You preach understanding and forgiveness, and the crowd you're talking to is the one that least deserves it! You try and help the man who murdered a mother and her child! But what about their lives? Two for one isn't a good exchange! Why are their deaths understandable, and not his?" There was a catch in his voice. Grief, as well as anger. "Tell me why! WHY DID MY FAMILY HAVE TO DIE?!"

"People deserve a second chance, Lyle." He had to calm him down somehow. But he had to keep arguing against his thinking.

"Did my wife get a second chance? Did my daughter?"

"No, they didn't. And that's one of the many tragedies in life. But doing the same to the murderer, that isn't right. How does that make you any different from him?"

"How many more people would have to die just to keep your conscience clean? Sometimes, you _have_ to kill! To save a life! A better life!"

"No matter what your intentions are, and no matter the consequences, you'll still just be a murderer." _Make him aware of what he's done. What he's become._ "Do you hear me, Lyle? You're a murderer!"

"So be it!" Lyle's voiced lowered. He seemed to be calming down. "You've never lost anyone. You don't know the pain. But you will. You just keep locking up those criminals, and watch what happens when the bars break."

Toby went cold. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"You'll understand soon." There was a small smile in the corner of his mouth, but it was twisted bitterly. "There hasn't been a breakout in months. It's the calm. And you know what comes next?"

Toby knew, but he asked anyway. "What?"

Lyle leaned forward. "The storm," he whispered.

"What storm? What's going to happen?"

"You'll see."

"Do you know anything about a breakout?" Toby asked urgently.

"Me?" Lyle shrugged innocently.

_Damn him._

"Lyle, if you truly believe in doing what's right, if deep down you're still a cop, please tell me if something bad is going to happen here."

Lyle ignored him. "When it happens, you'll know that I'm right. Rehabilitation my ass." Lyle smiled. "When they get out, there will be blood. They'll bathe in it. They'll drink it. It will rain, and it will pour. Oh yes, you will see..."

Toby saw a glint in Lyle's eyes, and he knew that he was truly lost. "Take Mr. Bolton back to his cell please," he said wearily. The guard seemed relieved.

"Sure thing, doc." He turned to Lyle and jabbed him with his baton. "Get up, scum!" Toby felt too defeated to even ask him to be more lenient. What was the point?

He would stay locked up, and he wouldn't change.

Toby got up out of the chair slowly and left and the room, quietly closing the door behind him. As he walked down the corridors of Arkham back to his office, he looked at the cells he past, and the people inside. As he looked at each face, he thought of the crimes they'd committed, and he wondered. Would they ever change? Was there any hope in what he was doing?

Toby shook his head, and stepped into his office. But then he remembered what Lyle had said.

"_You're as much a prisoner as me_."

He moved to the window and looked outside, and the massive electric fence and iron gates. Who exactly are they keeping inside here? The Penguin had trapped him here, and Batman had cornered him inside.

For now, it seemed, there was no getting out of Arkham Asylum.

Toby sighed, and checked his files.

"Who's next?" he muttered.


	6. Breakout

"A breakout," Batman repeated, a note of tension in his voice. "Are you sure?"

"I'm not certain," said Toby Mawson. "But with a place like Arkham, you can't be too careful."

"You're right." Batman paused. As always, he was wearing his suit of black body armour emblazoned with the symbol of the bat, and his cowl covered his face with a fierce glare and pointed ears.

It was night, and they were standing in Toby's office in his apartment, the young doctor having just relayed the hints of a breakout he had received from the Arkham inmate, Lock-Up.

_Breakout._

The word gained all kinds of new terrible meaning when applied to Arkham Asylum. Escapes were regular in a place that housed criminals so inexplicable and devious. No matter what precautions were taken, someone always managed to bypass hem and celebrate their new freedom with havoc and destruction.

Large-scale breakouts were rare, but they happened often enough. Last year, the Joker had planned an escape that had freed every single one of Arkham's inmates. Thankfully, they had been confined to the island on which the asylum was situated, and Batman had stopped them. But even then, a few had escaped Batman's grasp and had made their way to Gotham to spread chaos. Even with the strongest precautions and the greatest vigilance, damage was always done.

Batman suddenly turned to the door, his cape swirling. It unnerved Toby how in the darkness, Batman could remain perfectly motionless, appearing to be more a dark statue of a blurred shadow than a man. The Dark Knight pressed a button on his wrist and raised his hand to his ear.

"Oracle," Toby heard him say. "I need a list of the..." His deep, rasping voice trailed off as he left the room. Asking for the most likely inmates to escape, Toby guessed.

He came back into the room several moments later. The space in his cowl for his eyes flashed, a screen of glowing white covering the gap in that peculiar way.

"What is that?" Toby asked, gesturing to the luminous orbs.

"Uplink to the Batcomputer," Batman said shortly. "I use it to detect things human eyes would never be able to see."

"Like what?"

Batman turned to Toby and looked him over. "Your heart is beating at 127 beats per minute. You're feeling anxious. You need to consume 633 more calories to reach your daily guideline limit." He paused, appearing to look closer. "And you used to smoke."

Toby stood there in stunned silence, before looking down at himself. Batman appeared unconcerned and looked at Toby's printer. After a moment, to Toby's surprise, it blinked into life and whirred. Several sheets of paper were printed out, and it immediately turned off again.

Batman handed the paper to Toby. "These are the files I have on several inmates in Arkham. I need you to investigate, see what they know about a breakout."

Toby flicked through them, examining the names. _Anarky. Firefy. Bane._ The list went on.

"Will one of them be the person planning the breakout?" Toby asked.

"Not likely," Batman replied. "But if there is an escape being planned, you can guarantee that these inmates will be involved." He paused and raised his hand to his ear again. There was the faint sound of a voice coming from it.

"Alright," he said. "I'll be there." He turned back to Toby. "Don't interview them all at once or ignore your duties as their psychiatrist – it'll look suspicious. And if you find anything out, let me know." He gestured to the table. Toby turned to look at the small signalling device he had used to call Batman to him tonight.

"I'll see what I can..." Toby said, turning. He trailed off to find himself completely alone in the room. Batman was nowhere to be found.

Toby sat in his office, looking at the list in his hands again. He had arranged his schedule so his meetings with them would appear random. It irritated him. He wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on inside Arkham as quickly as possible; he didn't want to even be near the asylum while a breakout was being planned. Still, he trusted the Batman, and begrudgingly accepted that this was the right course to take.

Sighing, he stood up and went to see his first patient of the day.

Toby had heard about Mark Desmond even before he had taken his alias of 'Blockbuster'. The man had been an extremely skilled chemist, creating many of the drugs Toby prescribed to his patients. Until one day, for reasons no one was quite sure, he had developed a formula for himself.

The man had been transformed into a monster. As Toby walked, he examined the photographs in his file. A huge body, twice the size of an ordinary human, rippling with muscles and skin so hard it seemed to be made of rock.

He had gone on a rampage, seemingly out of control. He killed criminals, cops, civilians, even his own family. It seemed like he was unstoppable, and would tear the entire city to pieces, until Batman had stopped him.

Toby reached the door to the interview room, noting the unusually large number of guards posted outside. He peered through the small glass window, before turning to the closest guard.

"Why isn't he restrained more?" he demanded, shocked.

The man was unconcerned. "It seems he needs regularly doses of the formula to preserve his strength. We take extra precautions, but nothing extreme is necessary."

Toby nodded uncertainly, not quite convinced, and stepped inside.

Mark Desmond didn't look as fearsome as he did in the pictures, most likely due to a lack of the formula, but he was intimidating enough. He looked like an adult sitting in a child's play set, hunching over the table with massive shoulders, reinforced handcuffs chaining his huge hands to the table. His skin had a strange rock-like quality to it, as if he were a golem made of stone. He looked up when Toby entered, his brutish face becoming alert. Despite his imposing physical appearance, from underneath his heavy brow stared dark green eyes, a faint light shining from within them with a hidden malice.

"Good evening, Mark," Toby started, sitting down in the opposite chair and placing his file on the table. He felt tiny, having to look up into his patient's face. "How are you feeling?"

Desmond shook his chains. "Like a caged animal," he rumbled. His voice was like an avalanche, the sound of rocks grinding and scraping together.

"A necessary precaution, wouldn't you say?" Toby asked, raising his eyebrows and looking at the hulking form in front of him. "But I have to say," Toby continued without waiting for an answer. "You don't look nearly as fearsome as your file pictures show."

"I haven't had a fresh dose of formula in months. Longer, maybe." He spoke wearily, like an addict tired of being a slave to the substance he so craved.

"So if you don't take any more of the formula, after a long enough time, you'll return to normal?"

"No," Desmond said, shaking his head. "I will always be like this. I can only grow more powerful."

"Then tell me this - why change? Why become..." He gestured toward's Desmond's monstrous body, "this?"

"I had to become stronger," Desmond said, clenching his fists. "To protect the people I loved."

"How would being stronger protect them?"

"They were being targeted by the Galantes." Desmond's eyes became distant as he thought back to clearly painful memories.

"The crime family?" Toby asked. The Galantes were one of the major Mob organisations, ruling over much of the east side of Gotham.

Desmond nodded. "My brother, Roland, he had stolen something from them. Something valuable. And in revenge, they came for our family, and then our friends. They were being killed, one by one. I developed the formula to defend them."

"But even with it, you couldn't save them, I take it?" Toby had read the file. All immediate family members and close friends killed. All except his brother Roland, that is.

"No," Desmond said quietly. "Something went wrong." He frowned, shaking his head, as if trying to work his way around his thoughts. "I must have miscalculated. I lost control; I blacked out. And I..." He trailed off, his expression becoming pained.

"And you killed her," Toby finished in a montone. "Annabelle Desmond. Your fiancee." Toby remained neutral, but he felt a swell of sympathy for both Annabelle and Desmond - the young couple were to be married a month later.

"I did. I don't remember, but I know I did. All I remember is waking up, myself again, holding her body in my arms." Desmond looked down at his hands, as if seeing it all over again, reliving the tragedy.

"My Belle..." he whispered. "This time, it wasn't Beauty killed the Beast. It was the other way round."

Desmond went silent for some time, and Toby stayed likewise, hoping for the giant to open up and talk on his own. His hopes were fulfilled a long moment later.

"Even trying to save them, they still died," Desmond continued. "Sometimes, it was me, same as with Belle. Other times, it was Galante's men. In the end, I lost them all. Every. Single. One." He emphasises each word, hissing them between his teeth in almost a growl.

"You know why, don't you?" Toby asked. "You tried to fight fire with fire. Fearing the destruction of what you love, you sought out even greater means of destruction. And you found it." He flicked through the file, studying the formula he had used. It was incredible, beyond anything he had seen before.

"Those people were my world, and they were killed," Desmond barked, suddenly hostile. Toby flinched, still wary of the man's strength. "My world ended, and all that was left was ruins."

"You could have restarted. You couuld've built a new life out of the ruins."

"Life?" Desmond demanded incredulously. His voice was becoming deeper, harsher, and the muscles in his arms rippled as he clenched his fists. "What life could I have had without her? She _was_ my life! When she died, I died. I killed myself, just as surely as I killed her." Desmond breathed in deeply, seeming to force himself to calm down slightly. "But even then, I knew that it was inevitable," he said in a softer tone of voice.

"It's a fact of life," Toby agreed gently, nodding slightly. "Everyone has to die someday."

"That's exactly the conclusion I came to," Desmond said with satisfaction, smiling a grim, mirthless smile. "It all became so clear. I understood it all."

Toby tilted his head, frowning, thinking that his words had been misunderstood by Desmond. "Understood what?" he asked warily.

"The truth that sits right in front of our noses, but we choose to ignore." Desmond gestured all around him, at the world in general, as much as the cuffs would allow. "Everything dies," he stated. "Everything is destroyed. Our bodies age and decay, skin withering and wasting away. Buildings crumble and collapse, turning to dust. Stars are born and burn for a million years, and then they die. Even the planet itself is dying. Our world is filled with death and destruction, and everyone turns a blind eye." Desmond smirked. "You'd be surprised how many people find themselves in a hospital bed, and they only just come to the realisation that they're going to die."

"That's your justification for the things you've done?" Toby demanded in disbelief. "The world's full of destruction, so it's find to add a little more?"

"Like you said, it's a fact of life. No, not just that," he corrected himself. "It _is_ life. Destruction is always the final destination, the end of the road, the true purpose. The purpose of life is to end."

"There's more to life than destruction," Toby disagreed. "There's creation."

"Why create when it will only be destroyed?" Desmond asked. "Why cling to life, knowing that you have to die? None of it will have meant anything once you do."

"Because we're holding on to something. Something that's worth living for."

Desmond stared at him for a long time, green eyes glaring out with a dark intensity. "I did," he said.

_Did_, Toby thought. _Past tense_. He didn't need to ask what it was. He'd had a reason to live, but he'd lost her.

"In the end," Desmond finally said, "everything crumbles, and everything burns." He sounded as if he accepted what he said, but hated it nonetheless, an unwilling slave to fate.

"True, our lives are short, but some things are meant to endure."

"Like what?"

"Ideas? Developments? Memories? We may die, but a part of us lives on in others, in society itself."

"They too can be destroyed." Desmond held up three fingers in his monstrous hand. "Killing an idea is easy. All you need is the right combination of tools, and an idea can be utterly obliterated. Take Harvey Dent. All you needed there was an explosion, a few dead bodies, and a speech." Desmond folded one finger down.

"'Developments'?" he said in disgust. "I see only decay. We tell ourselves we're improving, advancing. Greater technology fills our world, supposedly enriching life. But no one seems to notice that inside, we're dying. We're a part of the system, nothing more, nothing less. We don't _live_, we _consume_." Another finger followed the first.

"And memories?" Desmond paused, apparently considering his own. "In time, memories fade and die, just like everything else." Folding the final finger down, Desmond lowered his fist slowly and deliberately. He looked like he wanted to slam his fist into the table, to rage and destroy everything in the room, in the world. But whether it was his own self-control or his imprisonment that stopped him, either way, he sat there, wrapped in a cocoon of torrential violence.

"Do you still remember Belle?" Toby asked quietly.

"Of course I do."

"Clearly, right?" Toby became more intent. "Even when you haven't thought of her in a long time, you can just call up the memories, like that. You remember every detail. As if they were alive, right there in your head somewhere."

Desmond looked at him closely. "How do you know?" he asked curiously.

"I've lost someone too." Desmond waited expectantly, bu Toby didn't reveal anything more. "But I can tell you, it's been a long time, and those memories aren't getting any less clear. I'll hold onto them until the day I die, and so will you."

"Exactly," Desmond said, with a faint look and tone of pity. "We will both die one day. Probably unnaturally, given our lines of work. And when we're gone, what do you think will happen to those memories of ours?"

Toby paused, frowning. "We'll tell others," he said. "Keep the memory alive in other people."

"But you won't," Desmond said shrewdly, or perhaps with understanding. "You've never told anyone before, and you're not going to start." His voice became harsher. "Whoever it is you've lost, they're dead. And when we're gone, it will be as if that person never existed, just like my Belle."

Toby felt pain and anger flare up inside him, but he supressed it, clenching his jaw.

"So that's it?" he asked stiffly. "You're just going to destroy everything and everyone, so the world can feel your pain?"

"Everything will die someday. Why not today?"

"And when it's all done? When everything in the world is turned to ashes and dust?"

"Oh it doesn't end there," Desmond said, his eyes glinting.

"What then?" Toby thought for a moment, something occuring to him. "What about you?" he asked more cautiously.

"I'll be destroyed along with everything. I'm nothing special. I've just been given the purpose of doing it myself." He gestured to his massive, hulking body. "I'm just the tool, the hammer. The Blockbuster." His voice became hard, determined, and his eyes flashed with insanity. "But I won't die yet. Not until I've destroyed everything. Not until the Earth is a barren asteroid in space. Not until the universe itself is returned to the void it came from."

"You're wrong," Toby said, shaking his head. This time, he was the one who felt pity. "There's one thing that nothing can kill, not even you."

"What?"

"Hope," Toby said simply.

"Hope?" Desmond laughed, and it sounded like boulders smashing. Then he grimaced. "Hope died in me a long time ago."

"I think you've lost hope, Mark. It's not dead, you've just lost sight of it. You have so much more you could do, that you could live for. But you can't see that. Because so much in your life has been taken from you. So much that I can't even comprehend it. So much that you can't see any life in your future. Only destruction and death."

"But it's the truth," Desmond said stubbornly. "That's all there is in my future. It's all there is in anyone's."

"Or maybe you're afraid to look into your future," Toby said, staring hard at Desmond with penetrating eyes. "Are you afraid, Mark? Are you afraid that you'll lose something else? I think you are."

Desmond snarled. "How can you be afraid of losing something, when you have nothing else to lose?" he rasped.

Toby knew then that Desmond wouldn't come back. Not yet. "Well, you won't be destroying anything else while you're locked up in here."

Desmond smiled a long, slow, curving smile, liek a razor sharp dagger. "But I won't always be in here," he almost purred.

"You think that you'll be freed?" Toby asked. Then he froze and remembered. "Or you think you'll escape," he realised in a much more tense voice, remembering what Batman had said.

"Oh, I _know_," Desmond said confidently. "It's like I said, everything is destroyed int he end. And it will be. Even these chains here, and the bars between me and the world. Arkham will burn." A light gleamed in his green eyes, lusting, thirsting for the destruction of his prison, and Toby thought he could see the fire, already burning in his mind.

"It doesn't have to," Toby said, wanting to believe it.

"I want it to," Desmond said simply.

Toby shook his head in disappointment. "Tell me what you know about the breakout."

"I'm not telling you a thing. It won't change anything. You know your destruction is coming. When it will arrive doesn't matter - it's only a matter of time. But it will be soon."

"Mark, please," Toby pleaded. "This isn't abou your own pain; this is about saving lives!"

Desmond looked at him with scepticism plain on his face. "Lives?" was all he said.

Toby leaned forward. "This is your chance, Mark. Your chance to choose hope over despair, and save life rather than bring death. The choice is yours, and yours alone."

For a moment, Toby allowed himself to hope, as Desmond closed his eyes, frowning, as if in conflict with himself, warring with indecision. Finally, his eyes opened, and they were dead, just like Desmond's vision of the world.

"Then I choose death," he said with a note of finality. Toby held back the surge of anger and frustation. He wanted to yell and threaten, and scream and shout until Desmond told him what he wanted to know. But he didn't. All he did was pack up his files.

He stood up and left, leaving Desmond, the Blockbuster, behind him, chained to the table inside Arkham Asylum.

As he walked down the hallways, a sense of foredboding crept up on Toby. The walls of Arkham, which had appeared so strong and stable before, now looked frail, as if a strong wind could blow them over. The security guards no longer looked tough as nails, but were mere children in comparison the unstoppable force they were guarding. Everything was a little less solid, and a little more uncertain, but danger remained as constant as it ever was.

Breakout was coming to Arkham Asylum, and no one was safe.


	7. Got Your Tongue

Toby Mawson was bored.

He was a psychiatrist at one of the most notorious, dangerous, and corrupt insane asylums in the world. He had met and been blackmailed by both the Penguin and the Batman, and was about to become closely involved with both men's affairs.

_And he was bored._

Toby wondered at himself as he walked through the hallways of Arkham Asylum, about to finish up on some late night paperwork. While at first, he had been experiencing a mixture of terror and tension, after a few weeks it had all become a peculiar kind of routine. Was he suicidal? Was he just plain careless? Either way, it was dangerous to let your guard down in Arkham.

At night, Arkham was even more disturbing than in the day. While before, the cream walls, white marble floors and steel fixtures gave the impression of a near-death experience, but in the gloomy surroundings were even more eerie.

Toby walked through the hallways feeling detached, partly out of boredom, and partly because he didn't want to think too much about his surroundings. He had seen far too many horror movies to feel even remotely comfortable in the grim silent asylum.

Finding himself in one of the main halls, the unsettling blanket over Toby was pulled aside, as the loud voices of three guards cut through the silence.

"I reckon it'll be Dini," one of them said. They all wore the blue uniform of Arkham security, and black suits of body armour. They were armed with tazers and batons, which they carried at their waists. As Toby moved closer, he saw that they had their wallets out and one of them was holding a jar which held several dozen notes.

"No way, Kane is gonna come out on top, no doubt," another said with certainty.

"Well, make your bets and we'll see," said the third guard, the one holding the pot. In speaking, he placed a small amount of cash inside. "My money's on Nolan." The others similarly put inside, before it was sealed and locked in a desk drawer.

"What are you betting on?" Toby asked curiously, walking over to them.

The third guard peered up at Toby. "I know you, don't I?" he asked. "You're the new doctor here, aren't you?"

"That's right," said Toby, nodding. "You're Frank Boles, right?" He had guessed the guard's identity from the description which had reached Toby as a result of his infamy. The tall, short-haired guard, widely known as one of the cruellest and crudest in Arkham, was almost as bad as the people inside the asylum; the only difference was that Boles was paid to be a vicious brute. Still, Toby knew from experience that it never hurt to be polite – in fact, it often helped.

"That's me," Boles said, his hard face stretching into a grin. The long scar running vertically through his left made the smile look more like an evil leer.

"So what are you doing?" asked Toby, nodding to the drawer.

"Oh, just having a friendly bet. We've heard about a showdown about to happen between a few of the small-time inmates – the ones in the group cells."

"And you're betting on who'll come out on top?" Toby guessed in disbelief.

"Wanna make a bet?" Boles invited. The others chuckled.

Toby decided that responsibility took precedence over politeness. "Shouldn't you be making sure that it doesn't happen, rather than betting on who'll win? In a place like this, losing means dying." He couldn't believe that members of the security force could be so callous and casual.

The smile fell from Boles' face and he shrugged. "Leave 'em to it. As long as they're on the other side of the bars, it's their problem, not ours." His voice took on a darker tone. "The scum could die for all I care."

"But this is a hospital," Toby protested. "We're supposed to be helping them, not letting them kill each other."

"Hey," Boles said in an impatient, hostile voice. "You want in, then get in. If not, stay out."

"I'll leave you to it, then," Toby said, glaring at Boles. He started to walk away, his anger at Boles and prolonged exposure to Arkham making him intent on finishing his work and getting out as quickly as possible.

And suddenly, Toby couldn't see anything. At first, he thought he had gone blind, until he realised that the quiet hum of the lights had stopped. Power cut. He was wrapped in silence and darkness.

He heard the guards make sounds of confusion, and stumbling footsteps echoed around Toby. He stood perfectly still, wary of hitting obstacles and knowing that there was no way he'd be able to navigate the maze of Arkham while blind.

Then there was a crack, one of them gasped, made a sound like choking, and then went silent. The other called out his name, sounding afraid. Boles hadn't said a word since the lights had turned off. Toby heard a muffled thump, then the sound of a body falling to the ground. His heart pounded in his chest as he waited, breathing as quietly as possible and expecting an attack any minute.

With a click, the backup generator switched on, and the emergency lights faintly illuminated parts of the hall. However, there were vast sections still blanketed in darkness, and the ceiling seemed like an endless cavern. What Toby could see, however, were the bodies of two guards lying motionless on the floor. There was no sign of Boles.

He rushed to them quickly, checking their pulses and eyes. They were alive, but unconscious. One had red marks around his neck, and another had a growing bruise on the side of his head. Toby gulped, and slid a baton out of one of their belts. He stood up, peering futilely into the gloom, baton raised in preparation.

"_Here, kitty kitty._"

Toby spun around in the darkness. The female voice echoed and seemed to be all around him, otherworldly and sepulchral.

"Meow." It was so close he could feel the breath on his ear. Toby started, spun around and swung with the baton.

"You don't even tell a girl your name before you try and hit her?" She seemed to be everywhere at once. Toby swung again.

"I suppose it's no biggy. I'm really into the rough stuff, you know." She laughed.

Toby tried to sound strong. "Show yourself!" he shouted.

He only seemed to amuse the mysterious woman. "I don't take orders from anyone, particularly men. But I have to admit, I'm getting tired of this cat and mouse game as well."

Somewhere behind him, there came the sharp clacking sound of heels on marble floors. Toby turned in time to see a dark shape emerge from the blackness.

A tall olive-skinned woman sauntered out, looking as if she didn't have a care in the world. She had the body of a supermodel, with a narrow waist and curving thighs, wrapped in a tight leather suit. A curled whip hung from her belt, and her hands were wrapped in gloves with peculiar marks on the fingertips.

He stood speechless for a moment. Her suit was zipped up low, barely concealing her ample cleavage, and Toby forced himself to keep his eyes on her face. A black choker circled her neck, and tight headgear topped with two pointed ears covered her hair. She wore a pair of goggles with red lenses, which she pushed back up her head as she approached Toby, revealing glittering green eyes. She raised a black, angled eyebrow.

"Cat got your tongue?" she asked, in a sultry voice. Her red lips parted in a grin, showing pointed canines.

"Who are you?"

"Catwoman's the name." _That's a name?_ "What's yours, honey?"

"Toby."

"Toby, huh? Popular name for a cat. Fancy joining the crew?" She winked.

"I think I'll pass."

"Fair enough. Right then, down to business." She placed a hand on her hip, slouching. "I need to get to the secure vault of Arkham. You're gonna take me there. Understand?"

"Why should I help you rob my employer?"

"Because if you don't, I'll kill you," she said matter-of-factly. Something told Toby that she was telling him the truth.

"Alright then, let's go." Toby turned, but something caught his eye. He turned back, peering into the gloom. Partly hidden by the wall was Boles, watching them. He nodded to Toby, and made a 'go' gesture to Toby. He couldn't do anything to respond with Catwoman watching, so he just decided to go with whatever Boles was planning.

"What are you looking at?" asked Catwoman suspiciously. She turned to where Toby was looking, but Boles was gone.

"Nothing, jumping at shadows." Toby turned away, his heart pounding in his chest, and set off towards the vault.

As they set off, Toby in front and closely followed by Catwoman, the young doctor began to think quickly. Boles was most likely either getting help or planning to ambush Catwoman. If the latter was true, and he failed, Toby would need to figure out some way of alerting security, without risking his own life, of course. When he looked up at the frequent security cameras, however, the red light under the lens that usually showed they were operational was dead.

"I took out the surveillance system, along with the power," Catwoman said, noticing. "No one will even know we were here."

Toby didn't answer, hiding a small smile. He knew that the route to the vault would require him to enter a code to open several doors. That was his way out.

"Don't even think about trying to signal your little friends," Catwoman continued. "Even if they find us, it won't be hard for m-"

The attack came sooner than Toby expected. As they rounded the second corner in the corridor, Boles leapt out from behind and landed a heavy blow on the back of Catwoman's head and neck with his baton. She gasped, falling to the ground, and lay still.

"That was easy," Boles said. He gave a short bark of laughter, resting his baton idly on his shoulder. Then his hand suddenly spasmed and it fell to the floor with a clatter as he roared in pain. Toby looked down and saw Catwoman's hand on Boles' leg, claws digging deep into the soft flesh. He tried to kick out, but she grabbed hold, claws raking that leg too. She pulled back, dragging Boles to the ground as she flipped to her feet. Before he could move, she pounced on him, pinning him to the floor. Her back arched as she leaned in close to Boles' ear.

"Don't move," she whispered maliciously, before biting into his ear with her sharp teeth. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave angry red marks and make Boles groan in pain.

"You bitch," Frank spat. "How the hell are you still standing?" Toby had been as amazed as Boles when she had recovered. The Arkham guard had a towering, muscled figure, and certainly packed a punch.

"Nine lives, hun," Catwoman drawled.

She slowly rose to her feet, her every movement smooth and sensuous, and turned back to Toby.

"Darn, I'd forgotten what we were talking about. Oh well, I was never one for foreplay, I always prefer to get straight to business." She smiled suggestively at him.

"Well, what do you want then?" Boles asked, getting to his knees.

Catwoman's smile dropped. She spun around and hissed. "Curiosity killed the cat," she snarled. "And I told you not to move."

"I ain't a cat," Boles sneered.

"No you're just a man. A little man. You'll bite and snarl like a big dog, same as every other guy, but in truth, you're just a little puppy." She took the whip at her side and let it unravel to the ground. "Cats and dogs don't get along." She flicked out her whip, catching Boles on the cheek with the end. He gave out a startled yell, and a line of blood trickled out of the cut.

"See? Whining like a little pup." She turned back to Toby. "You, on the other hand. There's something about you that's making me purr. Got any catnip on you, by any chance?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Then it must be you."

Toby couldn't help but smile, slightly bewildered. "You're kind of a wildcat aren't you?"

"Wildcat?" She turned to Boles. "Bitch?" She laughed. "How did everybody get hold of my CV?"

Boles glared at Catwoman. "You're gonna be the sole resident in a whole world of pain, lady, I swear to God." His bluster amused Toby, and also annoyed him. Couldn't he see that he was the helpless one here? Catwoman didn't appreciate the threat either. She went over to him, her heels clicking sharply on the floor.

"You won't ever shut up, will you? Maybe if I trim your whiskers you'll keep the noise down." Her claws flashed out twice, glittering brightly, faster than Toby could follow. There was a pause, and a dreadful moment when he expected to see blood gushing from Boles' neck. Then, the thick stubble on his cheeks fell away, leaving two patches of perfectly smooth skin. Frank stood trembling, watching the hair sift away. He didn't say a word.

_Sensible guy_, Toby thought.

"Well, I guess you _can_ teach an old dog new tricks." Catwoman gave a throaty chuckle, and held her claws in front of Boles' face. They shot back into her fingers with a snick. "Keep it up, sugar."

"So, what do you want?" Toby asked tentatively. He guessed that she just didn't like Frank, and she'd be willing to talk to Toby instead. He guessed right.

"There's something here that I've been paid a lot of money steal," she said. "That's the only reason you're still conscious. Although I got worried you'd keel over just from looking at me. Did you like what you saw? Your eyes looked like they were gonna pop out."

"Well, there's a lot of you to see," Toby said honestly. A little flattery goes a long way in ensuring your survival.

"Easy tiger. Think you can keep your paws off me for now?"

"I'll try, but I won't make promises I can't keep."

"Oh, I _like_ you."

"Will you two cut the goddamn flirting?" Boles said exasperatedly.

_You idiot! _Toby wanted to scream at him. _We have to stall her!_

Without taking her eyes off Toby, Catwoman lashed out with her leg, catching Boles in the groin. He moaned in agony and rolled over onto his side, curling into the foetal position.

"So you want to steal something," Toby said. "What do you need us for?"

"I need someone with clearance to open the vault."

"You got in here, didn't you?" Toby gestured at the Asylum around them. "Can't you open it yourself?"

"With enough time, sure," Catwoman said casually, examining her nails. "And getting in here was easier than shooting fish in a barrel. But I've got a date, so I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"Who with?"

She slid a single nail across Toby's chin, stepping close to him. "Jealous, much?" she breathed in his ear.

"I'd like to know who my competition is," Toby said confidently.

"That's on a need to know basis." She tapped him lightly on the lips. "And you don't need to know."

"So you're late for a date, but you've got enough time to play with us?"

"There's always time for a little fun and games," she said, winking. Then she turned serious, and backed off. "But only a little, now that you mention it. Come on, time to get moving." She walked to where Boles was still on the floor and nudged him with her sharp heels, not too gently.

Toby inwardly winced. He shouldn't have suggested she hurry up. _What was taking the guards so damn long?_

"Come on, little puppy," Catwoman said to Boles. "Time for your walk."

Boles groaned and rose to his feet. Toby was thinking quickly, trying to stay calm. He didn't think this feline figure was a casual murderer, but he'd been wrong before.

"Aren't you worried Batman's going to show up?" he asked, trying to place some doubts in her mind as they walked briskly through the maze of Arkham, Boles limping slightly. "The way this place is, he's probably got an eye on it 24/7."

"Batman?" She laughed, undisturbed. Then she assumed a tragic expression of terror. "Oh I'm so afraid, my fur's all on end." The look fell from her face, replaced by malice. "Bats are just flying mice, and even if he flies, cats can climb just as high."

"There's always a danger of falling," Toby warned.

"Trust me, I'll land on my feet. My kind always does."

_Time to try a different approach_. "Alright," Toby said. "Batman aside, there are a lot of other people you're gonna piss off. Whatever doctor that's using what you're taking? Not to mention Cobblepot. He owns this place. Stealing his stuff isn't exactly going to make you his favourite person."

"That's supposed to scare me?" Catwoman asked languidly. "Cats eat little birds like him for breakfast. Even the ones that can't fly."

"Recklessness can get you killed. Black cats are supposed to be omens of bad luck."

"Oh, I'm just a little helpless girl right? I need all you big strong men to help me." She had assumed the high voice of a damsel in distress, and she fluttered her eyelashes at him. Then she dropped the act and pointed a single claw at him. "I can handle myself, thanks. Besides, the bad luck is for everyone else, not me."

Toby swallowed nervously. Her look went back to mischievous and sultry. "But I do appreciate the concern for my well-being, especially from one of the guys I'm robbing." She moved in close. "Got a crush on this little pussy?" she whispered. Her breath tickled his ear.

"Maybe I do," said Toby boldly, smiling slightly. It was only partly a lie.

"I like the sound of that. But I should warn you, kitty likes to scratch." She held up her hands, her nails glittering as they shot out.

"I'll say," Boles muttered bitterly.

"Will you look at that," Catwoman said with a delighted expression. "My ears just pricked up at the sound of a prick. What was that, hun?" she asked sweetly over her shoulder.

Boles stared at her defiantly for a moment, before lowering his eyes.

"Nothing," he muttered.

"I thought so."

After several minutes they arrived at one of the many high-strength electronic doors that required a code to open.

"Get to work, boys," Catwoman said, leaning against the wall. "I want that door open."

"Sure," Toby said, quickly pressing the keys. His eagerness wasn't down to fear of retribution from Catwoman, it was because he had caught her. There were three codes that could be entered into the pad. One unlocked the door, as Catwoman had asked, and another initiated a lockdown in that section of the asylum, but Toby hadn't entered either. He had typed in the third code, which opened the door, but also activated the silent alarm.

Security now knew where they were, and they could guess where they were headed. Toby hid his smile of satisfaction as he turned back to Catwoman.

"Shall we?" he asked innocently.

However, the vast convergence of a small army of guards that Toby had expected never came. Whenever he glanced at Boles, the guard looked as confused and worried as he did. There was a smaller amount of people on patrol that night than usual, but someone must have been alerted. Toby tried his best to stall Catwoman as much as possible, hoping that it was simply a matter of time.

"So you don't have any problem with stealing?" he asked.

"I'm a thief," she laughed. "It's what I do."

"But it's wrong," Toby pointed out. "And illegal."

"Oh, don't be boring, hun," Catwoman complained. "All those rules and laws and restrictions – I honestly don't know how you can live." She shivered. "Things like that don't have any meaning for me. My world is all just shades of grey. Theft? Murder? They're no different to anything else, to me."

"So you're just a common thief," Toby said, sounding disappointed.

"Far from it, sweetie," Catwoman said, scoffing. "Not many thieves give half of their profit to the poor on Gotham's streets." Toby's raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I never steal from those

"But you steal from others, nonetheless. All you want is money."

"You're wrong there," she said, glaring. "I don't do it for the prize or the possession, or even the profit, but for the art of doing it. I do it because I can, and because I'm good. But I know there are others like me, without my skills. So I help out where I can, and when it won't cost me anything."

"But you don't have to steal to help others."

"This is Gotham. Crime is the only way to get by. This city is built on it." She sounded pleased about it.

"I don't make the world, I just make my way in it," Catwoman said, unconcerned. "Life's a bitch, and so am I."

"Why not try and change things, then? If you really want to help others, you'd be willing to go that far."

"I'm happy with the way things are, thanks. And I'm far from a common thief," she said indignantly. "I dress like a cat, for one."

"Yeah, why is that?" Toby asked, eyeing her suit.

"You like it?" she asked flirtatiously. "It suits my style. What are the characteristic of cats? They're agile, independent hunters. I _am_ a cat." She gave Toby an appraising look. "And you could be too, sugar."

"I'm not too sure about that," Toby said. He was far too easily manipulated by the powerful to be like this Catwoman.

"We'll see," she said, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

They finally arrived at their destination. The vault was in a small room deep inside the asylum, accessible by several long, narrow corridors which surrounded the room. Several of the corridors had windows, which looked out into the darkness. The large steel door of the vault looked impenetrable, with several steel bars running across it, and a thick border of concrete surrounding it. There was an electronic pad and a slot for a card beside it.

"Open it," Catwoman ordered.

"That'll alert someone up top, you know," warned Toby. _I hope._

"Oh, I'll be gone with a swish of the tail by the time anyone gets here."

Toby shrugged and swiped his card, punching in the digits. The door shook with a boom, then swung open slightly.

And chaos erupted.

Alarms went off all around them, flashing orange and whirring shrilly. Several guards ran at them from all directions through the doors, carrying batons and shock sticks. Boles and Toby immediately sprang back from Catwoman, who looked utterly unconcerned by the developments, retreating to the corners of the room.

The guards spread out until they surrounded Catwoman, and then began to move in slowly, boxing her in. She smiled at them and slouched, resting her hand on her hip.

"You boys really sure you want a little catfight?" she asked dubiously, obviously unperturbed.

"It won't be much of a fight," said one of them, sneering. "One little lady won't be any trouble."

"No, this ain't no lady," said another. "Look at her, she's a little kitty cat. Purr for me, baby?" He laughed coarsely.

Catwoman gave him a look of utter contempt and smirked.

"Little kittens purr," she said. "Big cats roar." She took her whip from her side and made a peculiar twisting motion. The single thick end split apart into nine smaller lashes writhing like snakes.

"Well, the cats out of the bag, fellas. I guess it's time to whip you into shape." She raised her whip. "Nine tails." She counted the men around her. "Nine lives."

There was a pause, a moment of tense silence. Then, one guard rushed towards Catwoman, baton raised to strike. She reacted instantly. She flicked her whip into his face, making him stumble and cry out. Taking advantage of the distraction, she swung forward into a forward flip, her heel colliding with the guard's head with the added momentum of his stumbling. He fell to the floor with a crash.

The others stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then looked back at Catwoman. She tilted her head, then slowly smiled, a malicious bloodthirsty smile.

Three more ran forward in unison. Catwoman hissed and launched forward, wrapping her legs around one guard's neck before he could react. Twisting round, she flipped over onto her hands, pulling the guard over with her legs. He went head over heels, crumpling into a heap.

Turning to the other two, one holding a shock stick, the other a baton, she flicked out her whip, deftly catching the shock stick. With a twist of her wrist, she pulled it aside – directly into the path of the other guard. He stiffened suddenly, and fell to the ground, juddering and shaking. The wielder, dismayed, pulled back against the whip, then looked up just in time to see the bottom of Catwoman's boot as it collided with the centre of his forehead.

The other five guards hadn't paused like before, and had stepped forward to take their comrade's places immediately. Swinging her whip in a several motion, faster than the eyes could see, Catwoman covered them in a multitude of small bleeding cuts.

Tossing aside the whip, she slid forward between the legs, of one, slashing at his hamstring with her razor-sharp claws. He roared and sank to his knees, before going silent as she finished him with a blow to the side of the head.

A baton descended on her and she caught it with cat-quick reflexes. Catching its holder's arm in a lock, she twisted with into a cartwheel with a cracking sound. Another kick caught him in the ribs with another crack, and he skidded away across the ground.

Ducking under another blow, she swept her leg across the floor, then slammed the guard's head into the floor, knocking him out instantly.

The remaining two guards looked at each other nervously. One broke and started to run away. With a vicious hiss, Catwoman pulled something from her belt and hurled it at the man's feet. The bolas wrapped around his shins, and he tumbled forward, head colliding with the door he was running to.

It was all over in less than thirty seconds.

She turned to the final guard, looking amused as he flinched back. To his surprise, she stood up straight and sauntered towards him, not striking out with her feet or claws, which still stood out, extended into knives.

She reached in close, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing her body up against his.

"I-I don't..." the guard stuttered in terror and confusion.

"Shhh," Catwoman whispered, placing a finger on his lips. Then she replaced her finger with her lips, pulling the man's head down into a deep kiss. His baton fell to the ground with a clatter. Then his body went stiff, and he made an alarmed sound in his throat.

Catwoman broke off the kiss with a mischievous expression. "I know I'm one hot kitty, but that was pretty quick."

The guard's face was frozen in a slightly vacant expression. Catwoman looked over his shoulder at her hands, gasping in mock surprise at the hypodermic needle that stuck out from it.

"Oopsie," she said. "Silly me." The guard slumped down with a groan.

"Don't worry sweetheart," she said, lowering him gently to the floor. "You'll wake up in a few hours with a splitting headache and a broken heart. Love hurts, doesn't it?" She gave a peculiar sigh. "Don't I know it," she said, so quietly, Toby almost didn't hear it.

She turned to retrieve her whip, looking at the conscious guards on the floor, who were glaring up at her in between clutching their injuries.

"Like the view?" She twisted into a deliberately suggestive pose. "I'm afraid it's the only thing you'll be catching tonight, fellas."

She strolled into the vault as everyone watched, unable or unwilling to stop her. She came out after a few moments, and Toby half expected her to be holding several bags with dollar signs on them. Instead, she carried only a memory stick.

But in the brief flashes of illumination from the still-wailing alarms, Toby managed to make out a single word inscribed in capital letters on the side.

_'TITAN'._

He had no time to wonder about it as she turned and sauntered over to him. "Well, it was nice meeting you, but I'm gonna be late for my date." Her eyes flashed dangerously. "Now, how are you gonna describe the robber when you're asked?"

"A short, ugly black man in a white dog outfit," Toby said without pause.

"I like you more and more, pet," she said, laughing. "The offer still stands, you know. Drop by any time you fancy a little cat nap." She blew him a kiss.

She turned to Boles, shooting him a look of pure loathing, and hissed. He smirked, but still flinched back when she started towards him.

She walked to the window, opened it, and pounced, as if to jump out. But she paused, looking back at Toby with the closest thing to respect Toby had seen all night.

"I can tell you don't belong with these people, Toby," she said in a serious voice. "Find something else to do. You'll be happier. Live fast. Love hard. Die young." Then, with a sultry wink, she returned to her usual self and leapt out the window, sailing off into the night.

Toby looked in disbelief between the groaning guards on the floor, Boles cowering in the corner, and the alarms flashing madly.

"That's one hell of a woman," he muttered.

"You have no idea," a voice said from behind him. Toby would've recognised it any day. He turned to see Batman step out of the shadows, his dark suit illuminating occasionally with the red glare of the alarms.

The first emotion Toby felt was anger. "What the hell took you so long?" He gestured to the guards. "They got here before you did!"

"I've been here the whole time."

"But we never saw you," Toby said in bewilderment. "How did you..?"

"It's what I do," Batman said shortly. He quickly moved to the vault on soundless feet and checked inside. Toby narrowed his eyes.

"Wait, if you've been there the whole time, then why didn't you stop her? You let her get away with it," he realised. "Why?"

He thought he saw Batman smile slightly. "This isn't her usual style; she wasn't doing this for herself. You heard her – someone else paid her to steal the memory stick."

"You're going to follow her," Toby said, understanding. "She's going to lead you to whoever ordered the theft."

"I want to know who they are, what was on the memory card, and why they went to all the trouble of getting it." He paused, and looked at Toby. "She seems to like you. When the time comes, I may need to get hold of her. Would you be willing to help me?"

"Will it be dangerous?" he asked.

"Most likely," Batman replied.

Toby stared at him for a long moment, and then sighed, shaking his head.

"I'm in," Toby said with a small smile.

Toby wondered at himself as Batman left to chase Catwoman, coming to the conclusion that he was truly insane enough to be here. And yet, he felt slightly better about it.

He could always count on Arkham Asylum to keep him from being bored.


	8. Birds And The Bats

_Don't be a chicken_, Toby Mawson told himself for the hundredth time. _Just do it._

He had spent twenty minutes in the staff room at Arkham, pretending to read a newspaper and arguing with himself. On the table beside him, his coffee had gone cold, untouched.

The subject of his internal struggle was Dr. Sarah Cassidy. He stole another quick glance at her. She was seated at the other end of the room, talking with another doctor on their break. Toby was mesmerised by her. To look at, she was decidedly ordinary. Plain brown hair. Even, soft features. Ordinary figure, neither slim nor heavy. But even in the dark depths of Arkham, she was a bright spark of happiness, flashing an easy smile or a word whenever she saw Toby. She was the bright flickering flame, and he felt drawn to her like a moth.

_Ask her, you idiot. Now!_ said the small sensible part of his brain.

Sarah glanced over, and saw Toby's eyes on her. He looked away quickly, examining the wall to her left with a studied dedication. He remained studiously oblivious to everything else, until he heard a voice next to him.

"Hey." Toby turned to see Sarah leaning against the table, head tilted curiously at him.

"Uh, hey," said Toby. _Shit, she saw you._

"Okay, what's up?"

"What do you mean?" Toby asked innocently.

Sarah raised her eyebrows. "There's something you want to get off your chest, and it's been bugging you all day."

"How did you...?"

"I'm a psychiatrist, remember?" Sarah laughed. "I'm supposed to know these things. Well?"

"It's nothing." Toby imagined his nose extending outwards.

"You sure?"

"Positive." The nose grew to obscene lengths.

"If you say so." Toby saw a brief sadness cross her face, but in a flash, it was gone, and she smiled instead. "Well, I'm always around if it becomes a something. See you around, Toby."

"See ya." Sarah placed her coffee mug in the sink and left.

Toby berated himself silently within the confines of his mind. He sighed, stood up, and went to see his next patient.

As Toby walked through the hallways of Arkham, he wondered if there were any heaters at all within the asylum. The cold was not a sharp bite, but an ever present chill. It drained him, made him numb and unresponsive. He shivered and hurried along until he reached his destination. The doctors he passed on the way looked as weary as he felt. Arkham affected everyone.

Instead of going into the interview room, Toby stepped through the door next to it. He emerged in a long and compeletely dark room, more of a corridor. Two chairs sat under a bench topped with microphones. Across one entire wall was a massive sheet of one-way glass, and through it, Toby saw his patient.

Jonathan Crane sat in the interviewee's chair. His dark brown hair had grown slightly ragged during his time in Arkham, and his thin lips were slightly tinged with blue. The pale doctor sat bolt upright on the unyielding metal chair, staring straight ahead with an unblinking gaze through clear rimless glasses. He was thin, unnaturally so, with skin wrapped tightly around fleshless bones. His fingers were like skeletal claws, lying relaxed on the table. Toby stood looking at him for a long minute; Crane didn't move an inch the entire time. Leaving, Toby went back out into the corridor and into the interview room.

Crane's eyes flicked up to his face, stopping Toby dead in his tracks. They were the palest blue, as if they were not eyes at all, but glass balls coated in frost. They pierced into Toby like icicles.

Toby's vision momentarily flickered and blurred. He smelt a peculiar odour, so faint that it barely registered to Toby. He couldn't place what it was exactly, but it scattered his thoughts, making everything seem liquid and constantly moving.

"Hello, Dr. Mawson." Crane's voice was cold, calculating and utterly soulless, but it was what he said that caught Toby off guard.

"You already know my name?" he asked cautiously.

"I've heard it whispered through the Asylum here and there." Crane's eyes never moved from Toby's face, not even blinking.

"From who?"

Crane cocked his head to the side, still not blinking. "You seem particularly interested in this, Doctor. I wonder why that is?"

So he was going to try and turn the tables on Toby; turn the spotlight on him. "I'll ask the questions, if that's alright, Jonathan."

"Avoidance? Interesting..." Crane paused. "Very well, if it makes you feel better."

"Good." Toby looked down at the file and cleared his throat. He didn't like the feeling of being under the microscope, with Crane's pale blue eyes staring deep into him. "Well, Jonathan-"

"Scarecrow," he interrupted.

"What?"

"My name is Scarecrow."

"Well, this file says your name is Dr. Jonathan Crane."

"Dr. Crane? Oh, he doesn't exist anymore. He was replaced by someone far more interesting."

"This Scarecrow? What makes him so interesting?"

_And what was the obsession with dual identities and roleplay in Gotham?_ Toby wondered. _Birds and bats, cats and clowns..._

"He's not held back by any weaknesses like conscience." Crane shivered slightly, as if even mentioning such notions disturbed him. "He is a true man of science."

"Personally, I wouldn't consider true science to be torturing innocents out of sick curiosity."

"The pain is irrelevant," said Crane dismissively. "What matters is the result."

"Achieving your goals at any cost? Even at the cost of human life?" Toby was bitter that a genius like Crane had used his skills to bring harm, rather than good.

"If it is necessary to make advances, yes. Science is, by its nature, lacking morality."

"And you see this as a positive thing?"

"Of course. Morality simply stems from emotion, and all the chaos and war in the world is a product of emotion." Crane didn't sound angry or upset; he simply sounded as if he were analysing a situation. "Logic, however, is the path to enlightenment."

"Logic is all well and good, but there's a line that cannot be crossed. Hence why you're here."

"Ah yes. It is the nature of great men to constantly be held back by the ignorant. Galileo was killed by lesser men for his genius. Where was the line drawn then?" Crane snorted derisively. "So much farther back than the place it lies today."

"Things change," Toby said shortly. He was aware he was being hostile to Crane, but for some reason, he wasn't holding back like he should.

"Too true," said Crane, inclining his head. "Morality is a capricious mistress. She services the people of the time, and then moves on without a backward glance. For a look back would reveal her own shameless indescretions."

"We grow as individuals, and as a species. We look back to learn from our mistakes, and move forward."

"If you truly believe that, then why do you try and stop me?"

"Because you haven't learned from the mistakes of the past."

"No, I've moved forward, beyond the rest of you. You simply don't understand, and your ignorance blinds you, fuels your hatred. You fear what you don't understand."

"Perhaps we are right to be afraid. After all, you do pose a threat to us."

"But of course, fear is a defense mechanism, a kind of sixth sense for danger. But fear is irrational. We fear the dark, but the dark poses no threat to us. What we truly fear is what lies within the darkness." Crane smiled, an evil leer. "We fear the beasts that come prowling in the night, to steal our children and disappear without a trace." For a moment, Toby's vision flickered, and the world went dark for a moment. He shook his head, and the fog cleared. Crane was still grinning. "But me?"

"What about you?" Toby asked, blinking at the feeling of a throbbing pain behind his eyes.

"Exactly the same. You fear my experiments, but there is nothing there of any significance to be afraid of. No, what you fear is what my research might show. You fear what the future might bring."

Toby flicked through the file on the table. "Mutilation, insanity, suicide... These are definitely things to be feared, Crane. No end could justify means such as these."

"That's your opinion," said Crane, clearly uncaring. "If I had one, I could give it to you, but opinions are meaningless, only facts matter." Toby had a different opinion to that, but like Crane had said, there was no point. He was far too intelligent for any mind games Toby could play with him.

"Why a scarecrow?" he asked curiously.

"Isn't it obvious? A scarecrow is particularly frightening to some. The image has a profound effect on most; it is most productive in my experiments." Crane spoke clinically, in a dead monotone. It was as if human lives didn't mean anything to him, only the results of his 'experiments'.

"And you enjoy the power this image has on people?"

"Enjoy? No, it simply fascinates me. We're afraid of so many things in life, Dr. Mawson. Many of them don't even exist. And yet, they have such power over us."

"What has power over you?"

"I fear a more physical thing."

"What's that?"

"Let me out, and I'll tell you." He shook the metal handcuffs locking him to the chair.

_What, was he crazy?_ Toby wondered. _Well, if he wasn't, he wouldn't be here._ "I'm afraid I can't do that."

"You're afraid, Doctor? Interesting word choice." Crane chuckled. "Tell me, what do you fear most?"

"Why, so you can manipulate and torture me?"

"Consider it along the lines of scientific curiosity." He grew quieter, but more impassioned, intense. "I want to understand you. All your personal inner demons. All your fears."

His obsession unnerved Toby. He shivered. "Why are you so interested in peoples' fears? Why that in particular?"

"Fear dictates everything you do; it's the only real motivation in your life."

"Example?" Toby prompted doubtfully. Crane focused his penetrating blue eyes on him. They seemed to bore into him, flaying away his skin and exposing the vulnerable soul beneath. Toby leaned back in the chair and gazed up at the ceiling. It was partly out of weariness with these criminals and their perverted view of life. It was also to escape the dreadful gaze of the man before him.

"You grew up in the Narrows, and were bullied as a child," Crane stated factually.

Toby froze. "What?"

"You were afraid of dying and being hurt, so you learnt how to fight and fend for yourself."

"How do you know that?" Toby demanded.

Crane ignored him. "You're the son of two working-class citizens in near-poverty."

_Dad,_ thought Toby, panicking. _Had he gotten to him? How?_

"Crane, where did you get this information?" The inmate ignored the question again and ploughed on relentlessly.

"You were afraid of being insignificant, so you strove for excellence in school."

Toby was baffled. "Did you get into my file?"

"Your first adult romantic partner left you for another man, slightly reducing this drive."

"No." _That's impossible. He can't. _It was terrible. Toby couldn't bear to hear it, and yet, it was as if his throat had sealed shut. And all the while, the pale blue eyes held him frozen in place. The metal arms of his chair seemed to be icy cold to Toby; the air was closing in around him.

"You were afraid of failing or being hurt, so you began to take fewer risks and avoid commitment. This is shown by your fourth job in three years, despite being only 25 years old."

"Stop it, Crane," Toby said, just above a whisper. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't take it any more. _What else did he know?_

"You saw your mother get-"

"CRANE, STOP!" Toby yelled.

The cold receeded, but only slightly. Toby began to breathe again, but it was strained. And Crane, the bastard, he just smirked at him.

"Fear is in everything, Doctor Mawson," he whispered.

For a long moment, Toby didn't say anything. He was too angry, too distressed. Too afraid.

"No, not everything," Toby disagreed in a voice that wavered slightly, shaking his head.

"Yes, everything," Crane insisted. "It is part of us. Fear can drive you to fulfill your sweetest dreams, or your worst nightmares."

"You're saying fear can be good?"

Crane raised his eyebrows. "Don't the examples I've just listed serve as proof of that?"

"But it can also be bad." _Very bad_, Toby thought.

"True. Fear is the cancer that both kills and sustains you. The fascinating thing is that we are the ones responsible."

"You mean we created a world to fear?"

"No, we created fear."

"I don't understand. How can you create fear? It's not real."

"Exactly, Doctor Mawson. _Fear is not real._"

"But we feel fear; we experience it every day." _I'm feeling it right now._

"Fear is in the mind. Pain, hatred, sadness, grief. The mind is their alpha and their omega. And the one who controls your mind, is you. Fear is a product of thoughts _you_ create. Look at all the pointless fear in the world. Another potential adjective would be 'mindless' - it does seem so moronic - but that would be paradoxical. No, the problem is, we are far too _mindful_. We overthink everything, creating fear of what only exists within the depths of our own minds. Most of the time, our fears concern hypothetical situations, scenarios that will only exist in parallel universes."

"But we don't like fear. Why would we create it?"

"We're animals, doctor. Slaves to our instincts."

"Including you?" Toby asked, narrowing his eyes.

Crane inclined his head. "True, I have broken my shackles. I am a free man. But occasionally, the comfort and safety of ignorance lures me back. Every time I see him..."

"Who?" Crane didn't answer, so Toby tried a different angle. "How do you stop being afraid?"

"It's as simple as that, doctor. You just stop being afraid. Do not try and destroy your fear. That's impossible. Instead, only realize the truth."

"What truth?"

"There is no fear. Then you will see that you are the master of it. Dominion over your mind belongs to you. Like everyone else in the world, you have a choice. To control your fear, or let it control you."

There was a long moment of silence, as Toby thought about what had been said.

"Crane, why are you telling me this?" It had been bothering Toby for some time. It was almost as if Crane was teaching him how to stop being afraid. His confusion was made all the more irritating by the hazy feeling that had been growing within him. Nothing was static; everything was vibrating, twitching as if the world was bursting at the seams. Toby shook his head, blinking.

"To put it simply, you have potential." _Potential?_ Toby wondered, alarmed. _He can't think I'd join him._

"You've just met me, how could you know that?"

Crane smiled. "We've already established that I know far more than you can imagine."

"_How_ do you know these things, Crane?" Toby leaned forward. His head swam with the movement. "There's someone in Arkham working for you, isn't there? _Outside_ the bars."

"My little birds sing sweetly in my ear. But they give the gift of music only to the worthy. Let us instead turn back to you. Are you afraid of something real, tangible? Or is it the intangible that keeps you up at night?"

"You don't already know?"

"I have theories."

"I'd like to hear them."

"I'm sure you would."

"I'm afraid of snakes, if you must know."

"Ahh, sssnakes. A common fear." Crane hissed like the reptiles Toby so feared. He leaned forward across the table; Toby drew back. "What is it about them in particular that you don't like? Is it their hisss? Or is it perhaps the way they ssslither and ssslide?"

"You don't scare me, Crane," said Toby. It was only half true.

"No, I suppose not. This form isn't so impressive. But what about _thisss_?"

The assault on his senses reached a peak, and Toby's vision flickered. The edges of his sight went black, shutting out everything but Crane. Everything but Scarecrow. Crane's face shifted into something terrible and twisted. It stretched out of proportion, eyes narrowing and becoming slanted. He smiled, and his teeth elongated into fangs, dripping with venom. His arms joined into his body, molding together. His skin became mottled, breaking into green-black scales.

In a matter of seconds, Toby was stood, staring dumbstruck, at a massive python at least 20 feet long. Its coils draped over the chair and table, endlessly writhing.

The snake, or Crane, or whatever it was, slithered across the table towards Toby. Its scales rasped as they scraped against the metal surface. Toby backed away, heading for the door, never once taking his eyes off the enourmous snake. As if sensing what he was doing, it tensed, then launched its massive body off the table towards Toby.

The snake's huge body collided with Toby's, knocking him to his knees. Lightning fast, it whipped its tail across Toby's chest, spiralling around and wrapping itself in layer after layer. Toby's chest felt as if it was being crushed in a vice; the pain was incredible. He strained as hard as he could, but his efforts were all for naught. Every time he exhaled to fill his lungs with air, the snake squeezed tighter, constricting his body between its huge muscled body, and cutting off his air flow.

A voice boomed in his head, writhing inside the skull like the serpent coiling around him.

**"Fear is a flower with the deadliest pollen. It is a virus, resilient and contagious. Once the smallest seed is planted, it takes a hold in your brain, digging its roots deep in your mind."** Pain lanced in the depths of Toby's brain. He tried to scream, but there was no breath left inside him.

**"The fear blossoms into madness, and it spreads seeds of its own. It multiplies, like a cancer, feeding off your hopes, your dreams, until finally, there is nothing left."**

With a final sharp twist, the snake crushed Toby's ribs. Blood rushed into his collapsed lungs, spewing out of Toby's mouth like a fountain. It rained crimson. His senses were failing, vision flickering, and the last thing Toby saw was the snake distending its jaws, descending towards his face. As it closed around him, he heard Scarecrow laughing, and the world went dark.

And as quickly as it came, the vision was gone.

Toby lurched back in his seat, toppling to the floor with a clatter. He scrambled back, gasping for air and clutching at his chest. Crane just sat there, watching, a small smile playing at the corner of his blue lips.

"What was that?" Toby finally gasped.

"That, doctor," said Crane calmly, "was the power of fear."

"How did you do that?"

"Oh, I can see how desperately you want to know." Crane narrowed his eyes. "You want to be assured that it was a slight of hand, a trick. Man fears the unknown, wouldn't you agree?"

"Crane!"

"_I_ did nothing. _You_ were the one that did it. Whatever you saw was created by your own mind. The mind controls everything. I just gave it a nudge."

"How, Crane?"

"We all have our little secrets," Crane sneered.

"Apparently you know all of mine," said Toby testily.

"I understand the mind better than most."

"Don't do that again, or I'll be forced to put you in restraints." Toby sounded about as certain as he felt. Crane suddenly started laughing, a crazed, manic sound, sounding more like pain than amusement. "What's so funny?"

"It's ironic – our greatest fear is death, and yet we're afraid of almost everything in life."

Crane continued to laugh for a long time. When he finally stopped, the silence was eerie and uncomfortable.

"Why did you do it, Crane?" Toby finally asked. "You were respected. A world-renowned doctor. And now? Now, you're locked up in a criminal institution."

"Afraid you'll end up the same way?" Crane taunted. "It's entirely possible, you know. The insane are notoriously unaware of their condition."

"Come on Crane, I want to know. Why did you become... like this? The report says you're a genius, and the work you've done in psychology and pharmacology is unparalleled. I know, I've read your papers. You just seemed to throw all that away, for no reason whatsoever."

"No reason? No, that's not true. And I haven't changed at all. All I do, I do for scientific discovery. I just want to better understand the human mind."

"But manipulating the fear in others... Crane, this is wrong."

"I wonder, would you be quite so judgemental if someone else were sitting here. Someone who I have a lot in common with."

"Who?"

"The Batman."

"Batman?" Toby scoffed. "He's not like you."

"Tell me, why do you think he dresses like a bat? It's a symbol, an elemental beast for criminals to fear. I guess you could call that 'manipulating the fear in others' perhaps?"

"That's different, he makes the criminals afraid, not innocents."

"Who decides who the 'criminals' are?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I'll tell you – the 'innocents'. In truth, neither side is correct. You are all held down by your biased views. There are many beholders, with many eyes. But you don't realise that you're all blind. I can see the truth. My eyes are open." There was a crazed, shining light in his pale blue eyes.

"No, you're just looking the world through a filter," Toby insisted. "You see the same world as I, but you see things in a certain way."

"I fail to see how that is any different."

"Because the filter you're seeing the world through is opaque. You can't see that what you're doing is wrong."

"Right? Wrong? Such ephemeral concepts are meaningless. The only things with any worth are verifiable facts. And that is what I seek."

"Right and wrong aren't meaningless. They mean so little to you, but to everyone else it means everything."

"Everyone else... This is pointless, doctor. We are opposites, you and I. You believe morality is something to be valued, and you'll never believe anything else."

"And you?"

"To put it simply, I do not. We will never come to accept one another. I will never think as you think; I will never do as you do. We have nothing further to discuss." He lowered his eyes, and became silent.

Toby opened his mouth to reply, but paused, and closed it again. Crane was right. He stood up and turned to leave, but stopped, and turned back.

"Crane."

He didn't answer. He didn't look up.

"Scarecrow?"

He smiled slightly. "Yes?"

"What do _you _fear most?"

"Bats," said Scarecrow quietly.

Toby nodded thoughtfully, and left.

Toby cancelled the rest of his patient interviews, instead opting to stay in the safety of his office. At first, the chill in the Asylum got to him, and he wrapped himself in his heavy coat, but it reminded him too much of the snake's squeezing coils, and he threw it into the corner of his office. He sat there, staring down into his paperwork, hands shaking.

_Get a hold of yourself_, he told himself. _You were imagining it. You're fine._

He tried to clear his head, looking out the window at the parking lot.

And there she was. Sarah. She was saying goodbye to one of the nurses, walking down the pathway to their cars. As they went their separate ways, Toby saw she had the same smile she'd worn earlier on in the day. Seeing it took away the nightmares again. He wished he could see that smile every day, when he woke up in the morning and when he went to sleep at night.

_Just what are you afraid of?_ Toby asked himself. _You know there isn't really anything_ _to fear._

Frowning, Toby remembered what Crane had said, all his talk about fear. He was right, there really wasn't anything to be afraid of. It was all in his head, created by Toby himself. Then what was he still doing, sitting here?

With a clatter, he launched out of his chair and bounded down the halls to the entrance. He burst outside, only to see Sarah's car pull out of the parking lot and down the long drive to the gates.

"Sarah!" he yelled desperately. The car continued on, rapidly accelerating. Toby ran after it, pumping his legs as fast as he could. He saw a bend up ahead, and knew that if Sarah didn't see him before it, then she would be gone.

"Sarah!" he shouted one final time, waving his arms in the air.

The car rounded the bend, and disappeared out of sight. Toby staggered to a stop, breath coming out in ragged gasps. He felt like falling to the ground and just lying there.

"Toby?"

He span around, to see Sarah pull up in a car next to him.

"Sarah?" he asked incredulously. Looking between Sarah and the bend he finally realised - he had been chasing the wrong car. He couldn't help himself, he collapsed into gales of laughter. Sarah got out of her car and stood watching him laugh, looking amused and more than a little startled.

"What are you doing?" she asked. "Aren't you meant to be at Arkham?"

"Yeah," Toby managed. His breathlessness from running, along with the laughter, made him dizzy and his speech came out in short gasps.

"Why are you out of breath?"

"Running."

"Why were you running?"

"To get you."

"What for?" Sarah asked, exasperatedly.

Toby gulped. "You wanna... grab a coffee... after work tomorrow? If you want? Or actually, not coffee. We get off at about eight; that would be stupid. You want to get some pancakes?"

Sarah blinked twice rapidly, then smiled. "You ran all this way, just to ask me out for pancakes?"

"Yeah." Toby's breath was caught in his throat, and his heart pounded in his chest.

"You're crazy. Absolutely crazy," she said, shaking her head.

Toby laughed in spite of his anxiety. "Then I'm in the right place."

Sarah laughed too, and a sympathetic expression crossed her face. "I'd love to, I really would, but I'm already meeting someone tomorrow."

It hit Toby like a hammer. "Oh. Okay."

"I'm sorry, Toby." He could tell she meant it.

"It's fine." He didn't mean it. "I guess I'll see you around then."

Turning, he started the long walk back to Arkham. He was dreading it already.

"You know what?" Sarah said. Toby whirled back around.

"Yeah?"

"Sure. Coffee and pancakes sounds great."

"Really?" he asked, not quite believing it.

"Yeah." She smiled shyly at him.

"That's... that's great." Toby grinned back uncertainly. "So, I'll see you tomorrow then."

"I can't wait."

She smiled at him then, and not even Arkham Asylum could take away how happy he felt at that moment. He wished the feeling would last forever.


End file.
